


Kill of the Night

by fetchmeabook



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killing Eve, F/M, Inspired by Killing Eve (TV 2018), Killing Eve AU, M/M, MI5 - Freeform, MI6, Obsession, assassin things, friends to questionable relationship to ? to friends to lovers, tags will change as more is added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fetchmeabook/pseuds/fetchmeabook
Summary: Koschei wasn't expecting much with his position at MI5. However, on an early Saturday morning, a desk bound analyst for MI5, is assigned to organize a protective detail for a witness which ends in an obsession beyond compare. It doesn't help that the fixation of his obsession can be just as bad as him.---The vaguely Killing Eve AU no one asked for but wrote in a caffeine influenced daze.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), The Master (Dhawan)/Jack Harkness, Thirteenth Doctor/O, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 39





	1. The Moroccan Job

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I'm still planning this out as I am uploading this first part, so there might be a bit of time before another is added. You have been forewarned. At the moment this is just a Killing Eve/Doctor Who thing but I love spy things and crime dramas so others might be tied in as well.

ATHENS, GREECE

2 months previously 

The assassin in question, a chameleon of a person, sat quietly in a small café keeping to their coffee. They watched as couples passed by the windows outside. A young mother and her son had sat down adjacent to her table, not twenty feet away. While she had gotten a drink that one would assume to be caffeinated for herself, her son had had a glass of what appeared to be both chilled and sweet. Having been there for quite a while, the assassin had seen which boards upon the old floor were loose and which ones could cause a catastrophe if needed. The child smiled at them as well as other individuals in the cafe, almost giggling behind their glass. As children go, this one was happy and joyful without a care in the world. They couldn’t have been older than six years old. The best way to earn a child’s trust was to be nice. They smiled back at the boy. 

Upon finishing their drink, the assassin absentmindedly toyed with the postcard of their next hit. To the untrained eye, it was a simple “wish you were here” card accompanied by a beautiful image of Marrakesh, Morocco. But, to the assassin it was all the information they needed. Their target was a wealthy French businesswoman that had had an affair and instead of divorcing her husband she ran off to Morocco with her lover instead. 

LONDON, ENGLAND

Present Day

Don’t stay out late at your boss’s divorce anniversary party, just don’t. Even if it was on a Friday night and you had the weekend off, don’t do it. But, especially don’t do it if you’re getting called in to the office on a Saturday morning for no apparent reason. 

It wasn’t often that he found himself at the MI5 building, willingly, on a weekend but it had happened once or twice in the past. At that moment however he wished that more than anything he could have been back in his flat, buried under a mountain of blankets with the world moving on without him. The hallow sounding floors mocked him as he silently walked through the halls, another pair of footsteps was following close behind him. They were in quite a hurry. 

“Hey! Wait up!” The voice of one Yasmin Khan yelled behind him. She was new, relatively, and had only been at MI5 for the past ten months after having been recruited just after her police probationary period was over. At first she had confided in him by saying that she felt completely out of her depth, what did MI5 want with a newly minted police officer? But after some time and quite a bit of shadowing the young woman had come into her own and had grown quite confident in what she was doing. “You’re going to be late, you know.”

He knew that if he gave her a response then it would be exactly what she was looking for, a reason to keep bothering him. It was too early and too bright out, why was Yaz even here. He finally stopped and let his almost friend catch up to him, in her hand was a drink that was the most disgusting shade of green. No human body should ever ingest something that color. “What is that?” The sound of disgust was so heavy in his voice that Yaz would have had to have been deaf not to hear it.

“This?” She held up the drink a little too close to his face for his liking. Oh, it smelled awful too. “It’s a kale and avocado breakfast smoothie.”

“You are the most disgusting individual I have ever had the displeasure of encountering.”

Yaz laughed at him, something she did regularly when she interacted with him in the mornings. He was not a morning person by any respect. 

She rolled her eyes at him, a habit she had picked up early in her career at MI5. “Anyway, you’re going to be late. From what I’ve heard a French businesswoman with ties to the Kremlin was found dead in Marrakesh. MI6 already involved themselves.”

“I presume you’ve already figured out why I’m needed there?” He was still trying to gain his footing and any information he could get from Yaz would have been helpful. At some point she had developed an ear for knowing everything that happened in that building, it was usually quite useful in times like this.

“For once I don’t know,” the pair headed towards the designated meeting room, the one that couldn’t be bugged no matter how hard you tried. 

“No, why?”

“Listen, I really don’t know. You’ll have to go in there and find out yourself.” 

With a sarcasm laden voice, he told her, “You really are so useful, Khan.”

“If it wasn’t for me you’d still be stalking the files of serial killers when you got bored. Wait, you still are. Oh, a warning though, Harold was here early so assume he’s in there.”

Had she not mentioned Harold, he would have made a comment about him being at MI5 longer and that he had been helping her out occasionally. Or he’d try and argue that he didn’t stalk the files of serial killers. Alas, neither comment was made as she had brought up Harold. They both groaned at the thought of either one of them having to deal with Harold Saxon. The man had had a short political career and had even ran for Prime Minister, when he lost he ended up coming back to MI5. The pair then continued their walk onwards in silence. It really was too early in the morning for anything. When it came to being there that early, he had always felt like the echoing footsteps were always haunting him. They were like some unseen force on another dimension that followed his every move. It wasn’t long before they reached the heavy wooden doors with their nondescript meeting room number on them. Yaz peered into one of the small glass panels on the door to see who was in the room. “Must be something big, Noble is in there.”

He still felt a little out of it, he made a mental note to never attend a boss’s divorce anniversary party again. “Who?”

“Noble, Donna Noble the head of the Eastern Europe desk at MI6. Firecracker of a woman don’t cross her or she might sass you to death, that Donna Noble.”

He just shook his head as though he knew who Yaz was talking about. Now was not the time to rack his brain for possible connections or dealings with her in the past. “You seem like you’d rather be in there. Would you like to go in my sted?”

“With how late you are, I’ll pass.”

He grimaced at her as he opened the door to the room. An unsettling silence quickly fell over the entire room. There were seven people in the room, including both Noble and Saxon. Also, in attendance was his boss, the one who had had a divorce anniversary party the night before, Graham O’Brian. When he sat down, Harold the Dreadful spoke up. “Thank you for all of you to take time out of your Saturday mornings to be here.” Donna Noble shifted the chain of her silver pendant but seemed not to be paying any mind to Harold at that moment. “As it would seem, murderers don’t take weekend breaks.” He seemed to be saying that for comedic effect, no one laughed. “For those just getting here, this is Donna Noble, head of the Eastern Europe desk at MI6. This here is Graham O’Brian and Koschei Oakdown.”

Donna directed a look at Koschei that seemed as though she were slightly confused by his name, “Most tend to just tend to call me Oakdown.” He told her afterward. 

Harold did not seem pleased, not that he was ever pleased or pleasing. Poor Lucy Saxon had to put up with that man day in and day out. “Noble will be taking the lead on this but both O’Brian and Oakdown will be handling the logistics of witness protection for you. Right then, let’s get to business.” Saxon handed a manila file across the table to Graham. In the file were several photographs of an obviously dead woman as well as a read up about her. But, Saxon, being the mouthy son of a bitch that he was, would no doubt go into great detail about who she was. “Marie Villanelle, a business woman that was based in Paris until last year. She was cheating on her husband with a woman named Josephine Laurent. When her husband served her divorce papers on the grounds of infidelity she and her lover vanished. The pair cropped up again six weeks later in Marrakesh, Morocco. MI6 has been keeping an eye on Villanelle for a while now, subsets of her business have been accused of working with the Russian mob as well as in illegal operations. Three days ago, Villanelle turned up dead and Laurent fled to London. You two are to organize a protection order for her while this all goes through.”

Koschei knew that Graham was of course paying attention while he himself was paying more attention to the photographs. It wasn’t every day that a desk bound analyst got called in to help with witness protection, though it did happen on occasion. He hadn’t seen many dead bodies before, in real life or in photos, but this one appeared to be artfully placed. The scene looked too perfect for her to have just simply died, the surroundings were immaculate and her clothes were. Not a single thing was out of place. It felt close and intimate, whoever had killed her had known what she was doing and had been close to her. “Interesting,” Koschei said under his breath as the analyzer part of his brain took over. “Probably a woman.”

Graham had asked if they knew the whereabouts of this Josephine Laurent. She was currently at The Goring hotel. He had also said something else but the answer had obviously not been to say ‘interesting’ and ‘probably a woman’ while looking at a photo of a dead body.

In that moment, Koschei suddenly felt the weight of the room and its eyes descended upon him. He looked up, “Huh?”

Donna Noble was quick to speak first, “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing. We’ll get a protection detail sorted out for Laurent immediately,” Koschei hoped that that was the right thing to say. He really had no idea how long he had been staring at those photographs, with his luck it had likely been too long. 

“Right then,” Donna Noble gathered her things and proceeded to rise from her chair. The rest of the table then followed her lead. “We’ll handle the rest from her.” She was heading towards the door when the analyzer part of his brain began to speak, something that Koschei had not given his explicit permission for.

“I said it was probably a woman,” there had always been times where he felt there was a massive disconnect between his brain and his mouth and words simply seemed to just fall out. In front of the director of MI6’s Eastern Europe desk was not such a time to allow that to happen, yet evidently it just had. Noble stopped and stared down Koschei, who was still at his seat and sitting. She gave him a slight head nod as though she were expecting him to continue on. Out of either nervousness or fear he did. “She appears to have been placed there, the scene looks too immaculate to be anything else. And, statistically speaking, men are more likely to murder violently but if you look at her face she looks as though she were having an uneasy dream. So, it was probably a woman that killed her. Women, also statistically speaking, are more subtle. When they do kill there’s a higher tendency for it to look artistic. Was she poisoned?” There was no way to shut off the analyst brain now.

“We are looking into it, but there are some things that do fall in line with poisoning with heavy metals. So far they have all come back negative.”

Analyst brain needed to just shut up, if Koschei could he’d be having words with it right about now. “Which ones have been tested?”

“The only usual ten.”

“But not the upper thirty?”

“There’s no need for it.”

“If she was murdered by poisoning, shouldn’t you be checking for all possibilities?”

“Right. Thank you. Thank you, Koschei.” Her and Saxon left, as well as everyone else that had been in the room.

Graham looked about ready to swat him. Koschei looked down and saw the photo of the one possible witness, or the murdered herself, “I want to meet this one.”

“No, you just need to set up a security detail. And, that’s it.”

Koschei wanted to roll his eyes at Graham but that was never a good thing to do in front of your boss, even if they were a friend of sorts. “Fine.” He reached down to where he had dropped his things earlier before he left.

MARRAKESH, MOROCCO 

Two months previously

Occasionally they would give Thirteen hits that took a little longer than usual to complete. Morocco was one such hit. She had been allotted two months to complete this one and was instructed that it be slow and deliberate. That was when she decided to acquire the bottle of gold sodium thiomalate which was used to treat arthritis in some countries. The gold was toxic in high enough doses and Thirteen had two months to kill. Oh, there was so much to do in those two months; there was much fun to be had. Thirteen had been left to her own devices for this one, her only instruction was for it to be untraceable. No dramatic flares this time or Idris might be cross with her. That was where the gold sodium thiomalate came into the equation. 

From what she could find on her hit, a woman by the name of Marie Villanelle, she had a thing for blondes and an overly jealous and possessive lover. Maybe for fun she’d play with the lover as well. Over the next two months she grew close to the two women, dangerously close, and one day Madam Villanelle did not wake. Laurent was distraught. And in the chaos of it all, Thirteen slipped away.

ROME, ITALY

Now 

Thirteen had left Marrakesh and had jumped around northern Africa before coming back home to Rome. She always enjoyed visiting Egypt when she had hits nearby, you could feel the movement of time itself in the sand. She walked the streets of Rome, bag in hand, back to her apartment. There was an energy and liveliness to the city that she found invigorating and intoxicating. And there was the added benefit that her handler hated the city. She smirked as she walked the streets, hearing rapid Italian mixed with the voices of thousands of tourists all around her. Her place was not far from the colosseum and it had always been great for people watching. The lovers that walked by, amazed with the history in Rome’s streets. And the quiet ones that took in their surroundings whilst simultaneously not paying attention to everything. The loud mouth Americans with their obnoxious attitudes and adherent sense of dress were her favorites to watch, they thought they knew everything with how they spoke yet managed to say nothing at all. 

Thirteen had just managed to open the front door to her building, once again she had pushed the door that was meant to be pulled, when she noticed the old hag that lived next door to her coming down the stairs.

“Sei sicuro di poterlo fare?”  _ Are you sure you can do it?  _ Thirteen asked the woman.

“Vaffanculo!”  _ Fuck off.  _ The woman spat back as she came down the stairs. “Sei stato via per un po’.”  _ You’ve been gone for a while. _

__

__ “Vacanze estive lontano dagli affari.”  _ Summer holiday away from business.  _ As Thirteen spoke the woman kept walking towards the door. “Puoi aprirla?”  _ Can you open it? _

__

__ “Vaffanculo!”  _ Fuck off  _ the woman said again. The door closed behind her. And with that, Thirteen climbed the stairs up to her apartment.

Once there, Thirteen set down her things back down in their usual places. First she unpacked her bags, putting away everything she had brought with her to Morocco as well as what she had gotten while there. Once she was finished she put on one of numerous robes that were in her closet as well as a pair of loose pants, a change from the more structured clothing she had previously worn. Knowing that her handler would be there soon, Thirteen saw an opportunity to try and startle or share the woman. In the past she had already faked her death once as a joke with pills and alcohol so she reckoned that she couldn’t do that a second time. After weighing her options for a moment, Thirteen willing ransacked her apartment to make it look like she had been robbed and killed. She still had a pint of pig’s blood left over in the refrigerator from a kill a month previously. The substance wasn't in the best of conditions but, it was what Thirteen had to work with. Despite having just put everything away, she dragged clothes out of her dresser and wardrobe and moved furniture into positions that suggested it had been overturned to find something or simply thrown to the side. Lastly, Thirteen smeared some of the pig’s blood across the floor to make it look like a body had been moved. She had enough bleach on hand to clean that up, it would be fine. When she was satisfied with the disaster she had created, it looked as though something had exploded in the apartment’s confines, Thirteen herself hid. She had had the apartment for a little over a year and a half and had discovered a panel in the wall that could be removed to reveal a compartment just large enough for her to hide in. At the moment she had had cans of blue 2955c stored there since she had yet to paint the one wall she had wanted to. Thirteen forced herself into the tiny compartment and waited. It felt like an eternity before she began to hear her front door creak open. 

LONDON, ENGLAND

1) The killer was a woman.

2) She wasn’t a serial killer, the scene was too clean.

3) This wasn’t her first kill.

This was what Koschei had gathered in the two hours or so since he had been handed the file for Laurent’s protective detail. It wasn’t taking long to organize the detail, the only real time it took was getting everyone on the same page, so Koschei had had a lot of down time to think about the death in the case. There was a reason why the higher ups tended not to tell him much in cases like these. This happened to be the exception.

Koschei wasn’t sure when he had zoned out, in his defense the computer screen was very boring.

“Koschei.”

“Koschei.”

“KOSCHEI!” A voice yelled behind him.

Koschei prided himself on the fact that he wasn’t likely to be scared, this was yet another exception. Without willing it to, Koschei’s whole body jumped in his chair.

“What, Yaz?” He blinked a few times before turning back to see Yaz at her desk.

“The requests for the assigned detail have come through, you have to look over them. Or I will and say they aren’t the right individuals, deny them, and make you stay here longer,” Yaz smirked at him. Yaz was the type of individual that liked to be difficult and stubborn at times where neither quality was really needed, Koschei tended to be her victim.

“Fine…”

“No bite? Were you dreaming about this lady killer?”

Koschei, who had no recollection of really telling her anything other than what was needed for casework, fully snapped around. “How did you know that?” He thought after the fact that he probably should have at least made the attempt to deny that he was thinking about the killer, but it was too late now.

Yaz laughed and turned back to her desk. “You mumble when you don’t realize you are.” She paused for a moment before he heard the light sounds of her fingers gracing a keyboard. “Maybe that’s how Jack knows so much about what goes on here, you talk too much in bed.”

Graham chose that moment to walk in, right as Yaz was telling Koschei ‘you talk too much in bed.’ “Wasn’t it you that a few years back told Jack that you wanted to be monogamous?” He had already known Graham even before coming to MI5..

Koschei knew that Graham had not walked in to talk about his sex life but in that moment he felt like he had just become the human embodiment of a tomato. Not wishing to hear any further questioning from his boss, Koschei made the attempt to ask, “Any news on Laurent?”

“She had been moved to the Langham Hotel. Apparently she had a tantrum when they tried to move her anywhere else, she claimed that everywhere else would have been beneath her,” Graham told him in the most nonchalant way, as though he hadn’t just commented on one of his analyst’s sex lives. 

Koschei swallowed down his pride and looked up, still a human tomato. “I’ll have the details sent over. Where is the Langham?” Graham gave him the remaining details he needed to send the protective detail out before leaving again, this time out of their office area.

When she had determined that Graham was far enough away, Yaz asked Koschei, “You’re going to go over there aren’t you?”

“Don’t tell!”

“Honey, you really need to be more overt in your interests. Even Graham is probably aware that you are going over to see the witness.”

Koschei was already gathering up his things from his desk. He really didn’t want to have to come in the next day, Sunday, as well. He could see from the windows that the sun was already low in the sky. “Just don’t tell. Okay? You’re amazing, I love you, bye.” Koschei then left. Back when he had first started there were a few assignments where he and Yaz would have to be kept there late into the night to make sure nothing was overlooked, they had found that a way of passing the time quickly was through bad flirting. While they didn’t actively flirt anymore, there were still times where they’d tell each other jokingly ‘I love you’ as a way of accenting a statement.

ROME, ITALY

From her hidden compartment, Thirteen could hear Idris walk in and look for her. Her Victorian style boots always echoed on her floors in a way that annoyed the other woman immensely. “Thirteen, I know you’re here.” Idris had had to put up with Thirteen long enough to know when something was actually wrong verses when she just wanted to mess with someone. “Come out already.” She walked around the apartment and came to a stop right in front of the panel where Thirteen was hidden. Through a small gap in the paneling, Thirteen could just make out the outline of her legs. The childlike nature of Thirteen took over in that moment as she moved the panel just enough to reach her arm out and grab the other woman’s leg. Idris jumped as she felt a cold hand on her lower leg. “THIRTEEN!”

Giving up her hiding space, it had been a good one too but she couldn’t use it again, Thirteen extracted herself from the compartment as Idris watched on. Her handler looked exasperated by her, again. “You left a witness, Thirteen.” She said as she handed Thirteen her payment for her latest hit.

“I was only to go after Villanelle, not Laurent,” Thirteen said as she rose to her feet and took her payment.

Idris handed her a second stack of cash, “Bonus, they were impressed.” Thirteen took both sets of payment and walked away from her handler. “The client is offering a second bonus for you to take out the witness,” Idris handed her a postcard much like the ones she had been given pertaining to Marie. This one was for a hotel in London with nothing written on it. She didn’t need to know the name of the witness, Thirteen already knew all about Josephine Laurent. 

LONDON, ENGLAND

36 hours later

Nothing had been flagged as suspicious since the detail had been put in place. No activity, no individual, nothing. But little did they know that Thirteen had been watching. Mia Selva had been the name that she had used on her booking. Little did they know that Mia Selva didn’t exist. In the sixteen hours it had been since she had arrived not only had she figured out the shift change of Laurent’s guards but also that there was a man of Indian descent that had very nice eyes. Occasionally she’d get distracted looking at him. To her luck she’d managed to run into him.

Thirteen was just coming back up to her room, just a few doors down from Laurent’s for easy watching, when she had run into him. He had had a file in his hands at the time they met. The papers had gone everywhere when she “accidently” hit him when she “wasn’t paying attention to where she was going.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she was in the UK now and had no need to put on another accent and disguise like she had in Morocco. Thirteen tried to seem helpful, if only to watch him a little longer, and tried gathering up his papers for him. He crouched down as well to pick up his papers.

“If my fault really, I didn’t see you there,” so he was northern. It took her a moment to place his accent, Manchester maybe?

She put on a smile and told him, “No, no I’m always running about. Barely still, I tend to run into people by mistake sometimes.” She handed him the pieces of paper that she had grabbed and handed them to him. Every alias had to feel like a real entity, she could almost hear her keepers telling her. “I’m Mia.”

“Koschei,” he said.

Sound genuine, the words kept going over and over in Thirteen’s head. “I’ll see you around then?” She knew they’d be gone once Josephine Laurent was dead. The file he had dropped had been about Laurent, and it confirmed her suspicion of the three always armed guards that watched the other woman in shifts. Thirteen started to walk away from the man, not before looking back at him once more first. If she was correct, the guards would be changing in half an hour. She knew that it would be best to wait for another guard change before going after Laurent. So, Thirteen did what Thirteen hated to do, she was patient and she waited.

\---

Koschei, after meeting with Laurent’s protective detail, left the Langham hotel. It had been a long and tedious forty-eight hours. Finally, he was able to go home. He had managed to drag himself home in such a daze that he only realized he was home when he saw Jack’s coat hung up on the rack by the door. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, given how late it is he guessed that Jack might have already been in bed. He left his coat and shoes by the door. Mindlessly, Koschei made his way upstairs to their bedroom. Jack had in fact been in bed already, but that didn’t mean he had been asleep yet. The tiredness was setting in as he changed into his night clothes. He was watching his partner change as opposed to trying to sleep. When Koschei crawled under the covers to let sleep overtake him, he felt Jack slip his arms around him and mold himself around the shorter man. The last thing he remembered feeling was a kiss being placed on the back of his neck as he fell asleep.

\---

Thirteen was inpatient. It was a quarter past 3 AM now and the guard would be changing in five. Now was her chance to make her way into Laurent’s room. It wasn’t difficult, sneaking in. The only challenging aspect was going unseen by the guards, but by then she had established that they all overlooked the obvious. It was a quick job, in and out, unlike Marie Villanelle had been. Her previous hit she had been given time to play with her target, and play she had, but now it had to happen so quickly that it was over before anyone knew what had been done. Josephine still liked to sleep like the dead in pitch black rooms. Thirteen used this to her advantage as, having dealt with protective details in the past, she knew none would come in and bother Josephine while she slept and they wouldn’t dare place cameras in her bedroom.

Once the deed was done Thirteen slipped into the night undetected. Back to Rome she went.

\---

The annoying shrill of a phone was what woke Koschei at six am. He tried to reach out for his phone as Jack wrapped his arms around his lover tighter. “Don’t go, it’s too early,” he said in a sleep stricken voice. 

“Jack, let go,” Koschei was too tired and still riddled with sleep to sound in any way forceful. He felt Jack reluctantly withdraw his arms, but only slightly. Koschei reached over Jack to his phone on the bedside table. Apparently sometime in the night Koschei had decided that Jack was a better pillow than his actual pillow. It was too early to be awake and if he were ever awake at this hour all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with Jack and a cup of tea. Sadly, the day would not leave him be. “Hello?” Koschei answered in a groggy voice.

Graham was on the other end of the phone. “Get down here, now!” He sounded pissed off.

Koschei threw himself against the bed, not Jack. “Forty-five minutes, I’ll be there.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, “She says you have thirty.”

“Who?” Koschei asked but Graham had hung up. He groaned and slowly got himself out of bed, or rather attempted to. Jack had circled his arms around his waist and held on with a viselike grip. “Jack,” Koschei pleaded as he peeled his arms off him. “I’ll be back later,” he placed a kiss on the other man’s forehead before leaving to get dressed.

MI5 was eerie this early in the morning, not a soul could be heard nor any existence of life in the building. Graham had sent him a text to meet in the office block nearest the meeting rooms. He found that odd since neither of them had a desk there. But, nevertheless, he listened and proceeded to meet Graham there. When he got there, he could see Graham already there but not in the room yet. However, both Harold Saxon and Donna Noble were already in the room. Koschei was already dreading this. “If they fire you over this, you better drag me down also. I’ve been meaning to call out Saxon for years.”

“Fire me over what?” Koschei asked as Graham herded him into the room. Before he knew what exactly was going on, Koschei was being forced down into a seat across from one Donna Noble. He had never liked pure silence, well he liked it in the Australian Outback but that was different. This was a step beyond pure silence, this was unsettling silence that sent chills down your spine. This was a silence in the middle of the woods late at night right before you heard leaves rustle. It was the silence that you knew only bad things could come from. 

After what felt like seventy seven years of silence, Donna Noble spoke up. “Josephine Laurent was found dead at approximately 05:47 AM with ligature marks around her throat suggesting that she was strangled. Time of death was approximately 03:30 AM. Three guards were also found with lacerated throats, all presumably killed around the same time.”

Harold Saxon, asshole extraordinaire, spoke up, “Do you have anything to say for your protective detail, given that you did only have one job?”

Koschei, suddenly finding himself in shock, couldn’t seem to find the right words at that moment. All he could find himself saying was, “You are such an asshole,” to Saxon. 

“I don’t think you need to be speaking to me like that right now, Koschei.” Harold Saxon was the very definition of a stick up the ass asshole. Koschei saw Donna lean back in her seat as though she were about to watch an interesting turn of events unfold. 

“Can someone just tell me what I need to do right now?” He was fully awake now and didn’t direct his question at any one individual.

“Well, given that you have been conducting your own investigation, managing to hack into files that you don’t have clearance for, and failing at your real job, I suggest that you stay quiet for now.” What Koschei wouldn’t give to punch that man in the face right then and there.

The phrase ‘your own investigation’ peaked Donna’s interest. “What investigation?” She asked Koschei. Donna rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, Koschei saw a small silver necklace fall out from her shirt revealing a small pill shaped pendant. 

“I was running comparisons on other known killers and profiles for Marie Villanelle to see if there were any matches.”

“And did you find any?” Harold looked at Donna as though she were asking Koschei to assassinate someone. Graham wished that he could have frozen his face in that moment to preserve that look of shock.

“I came across two online databases, one from the US and one in Brazil that tracked homicides. And while the Brazilian one wasn’t that helpful, there were a few points of interest in the US database that seemed to match the killer of Marie Villanelle. The ones there support the idea that the killer might be a woman.”

Harold Saxon also never liked having his spotlight taken away. With a sneak on his face he told Koschei, “You’re fired.”

“What?” This time it was Graham that spoke. 

“Fuck you,” the words just came out of Koschei’s mouth. If he had been paying attention to Donna, he might have noticed the slight smirk on her face. 

“Your things will be sent to you,” Harold told Koschei. He and Koschei never liked each other and he had been looking for any reason to have the other man fired since day one. “Now get out.”

A part of Koschei was almost glad that he had been fired. He stood up and gathered himself, behind him Graham tried saying to Harold, “Just to be clear-.”

“You’re fired.”

“Thank you.” Graham left with Koschei. Neither one heard Donna agree with the two fired employees in their sentiment that Harold was an asshole.

Koschei decided to walk back home, it wouldn’t have been that far in a cab but it was lengthy on foot. And, for the situation he had just been put in, he felt level headed enough to make the journey. He wasn’t more than fifteen minutes away when he felt his phone go off in his pocket. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Koschei saw that it was a message from an unknown number. Against his better judgment, he opened the message.

_ Unknown: (07:32:25 AM)  _

_ Your hypothesis that the killer was a woman is compelling and with your analytics background you might be useful to MI6. Meet me at The Rose and Crown tomorrow at 18:00. -DN _

  
  
  



	2. Can You Keep a Secret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a section that is repeated. It's entirely on purpose and not my laptop being evil when copying over.

LONDON, ENGLAND

Koschei didn’t know what to expect. 

Unknown: (07:32:25 AM)  
Your hypothesis that the killer was a woman is compelling and with your analytics background you might be useful to MI6. Meet me at The Rose and Crown tomorrow at 18:00. -DN

He had returned home. In his best attempt, he had played it off to Jack that he had been given some time off in light of recent casework he had been involved in. Right now, Jack didn’t need to know the truth. And Jack being Jack had been more than welcoming. While Koschei wasn’t exactly sure of what Jack did at Torchwood, much like Jack wasn’t sure what Koschei did at MI5, the other man had already previously been given the beginning of the week off. 

And that was how Koschei Oakdown had found himself being nailed up against the front entry wall by Jack at approximately 8 AM. Jack wasn’t being as innovative as he usually was, that might have just been that he hadn’t been awake long though. And that red hat from whatever UNIT was still happening upstairs, Koschei knew that for sure. There were moments where he thought that Torchwood must have been a spy organization that trained its agents in seduction and using sex as a weapon, there was no other reason for Jack to be as good as he was. Koschei was trying to formulate any thought that he could, aside from moans and Jack’s name, but his brain was simply not working with him. As both of them hurdled to a fast approaching end Jack kissed Koschei like it was the last chance he’d get to. Cloud nine couldn’t even describe where Koschei felt he was.

He couldn’t feel Jack lowering them to the floor, much like he hadn’t noticed that his legs were still wrapped around Jack. There was only one thing Koschei could distinguish as feeling apart from his own blissed out being and that was Jack’s lips on his neck. One hand moved separately from his mind’s direction as it chose to bury itself in Jack’s hair. This wasn’t the first time they’d ended up in this exact position and situation, they’d only made it this far several times before. Koschei rolled his head back as the crown of it hit hard against the wall, he hissed in pain as Jack drew himself slightly away from his lover. Though, upon realizing that Koschei was fine, Jack went back to what he was doing. As he was too focused on what he was doing, Jack did not hear the noises that Koschei’s stomach was starting to make. 

“Jack…” Koschei moaned as he realized that he hadn’t eaten at all before leaving early this morning. He tried to pull away slightly but relented one he came to terms with the fact that he’d have to convince Jack to stop first. Koschei slowly moved his hand from Jack’s hair to under the other man’s chin so that he could properly kiss him. Or at least make Jack think he was going to kiss him. Jack had fallen for Koschei’s ruse and attempted to kiss him on the lips. “Breakfast now, kiss later,” Koschei told him. Jack did not look happy about this though he did peel himself away from his smaller lover so that he could get up. Koschei wouldn’t have been surprised if Jack attempted to carry him into their kitchen. Given that it was still relatively early Koschei wasn’t one to eat much in the morning, even after what Jack had just put him through.

\---

Around noon, Koschei set an alarm in his phone for 6 PM after he had decided to take the stranger up on their message. He had decided that there was a possibility that this wouldn’t end well but Koschei thought that there weren’t many people left that would miss him all that much. Said phone was placed on the arm of the sofa that Jack and he had curled up on hours ago, so long ago that his legs had fallen asleep. They had been mindlessly watching television for the past few hours and their state of dress hadn’t evolved that much from when Jack had stripped him of his clothing early that morning. Koschei was glad that his lover hadn’t pressed him for any further information as to why he was home and not at MI5, he had never gained the mood to willingly explain his presence home. 

Koschei felt himself begin to doze off, many hours with no movement really brought out the tiredness in your body. He was thoroughly tired and sore. The sweet bliss of sleep was approaching faster and faster. It was just out of reach when Koschei’s phone decided to rudely go off. His eyes were already closed at this time. He felt Jack attempt to rouse him from his almost sleep. When that didn’t work, or rather when Koschei simply groaned at Jack, he felt an arm reach around him towards his phone. He hadn’t wanted to get up but curiosity always got the best of Koschei, it had always helped at MI5 to be just a little curious. Jack brought the phone closer to his face to read. “Why do you have a reminder set with the name of a bar?”

“Maybe I’m meeting someone else,” Koschei teased. 

“Are you bringing them back here?” Koschei had managed to get up off the sofa but Jack was still seated. Jack grabbed Koschei’s hands and pulled him closer to him. Koschei could feel Jack’s warm breath on his face. The other man flashed that smile that caused him to first melt.

“It’s nothing like that,” Koschei set a kiss on Jack’s cheek and smiled back at him. He stepped away from his partner and made his way upstairs to their bedroom, he guessed that whoever he was meeting wouldn’t be too fond of him showing up in his boyfriend’s shirt and a pair of boxers. 

“If you’re trying to impress someone, wear the blue button down. That always did wonders on me,” Koschei heard Jack yell up from down stairs. Oh, Koschei knew that that shirt had done wonders on Jack, much like the red UNIT cap. The original blue shirt that Jack was talking about, however, Koschei had put away three years previously and gotten another to replace it. He had found out rather quickly that he couldn’t wear that shirt without thinking of Jack.

Almost three and a half years previously, Koschei had met Jack at a party. It was not long after he had started at MI5 and Jack had seemingly been acquainted with most of the guests there. He had later found out that the party was being held at the house of one of Jack’s friends. At the time Koschei had only recently gotten out of a relationship he had thought would have been for the long hall, after six months he had genuinely thought that he was going to marry that girl but she had cheated and he had felt heart broken. Koschei hadn’t wanted to really socialize with people at that point but someone else who had worked at MI5 had convinced him to go. He had spent nearly the entire night with a glass of wine in his hand. Before he knew it a man had come up to him and told him that the blue dress shirt he was wearing looked phenomenal against his complexion. Koschei hadn’t been sure what to say afterward but with a few more glasses he had finally gained the courage to flirt back with the man. Sometime before Koschei had decided to leave, citing that he didn’t want to do anything stupid once he had more than red wine in his system, he had ended up with the mysterious man’s number. He could vaguely remember texting the man sometime late into the night. They’d gone on a date after a week of texting late into the night and that shirt had been forever ruined for him, not because of anything getting on it but more so the memories now attached to it. 

However, he had planned to wear the newer blue shirt anyway. Koschei gathered his clothes from the wardrobe and got to work getting dressed. The alarm had been set for 5 PM so that he’d have enough time beforehand. Once dressed, Koschei found himself back downstairs checking to make sure that he had everything. While he might have been curious and known for looking into things he had no involvement in, he did have a forgetful streak about him. He had his phone, wallet, and keys. Going over final checks, Jack came up behind him. A familiar arm settled itself around his waist.

“Will you tell me now why you’re meeting someone at a bar?” Jack whispered into Koschei’s ear.

“It's work related.” At least Koschei thought it was work related. That or Jack might be getting a call in the morning saying that Koschei’s body had been found. But, Koschei thought that the message signed ‘DN’ was from Donna Noble. How she had ended up with his number he did not know but she hadn’t struck him as the kind of woman to kill someone for saying the wrong thing. But, he had been wrong in guessing what people were like in the past. 

“But at the Rose and Crown? That doesn’t seem like a place that MI5 would be meeting up at.”

“You go there enough.”

“I’m not MI5, babe.” Jack hugged him from behind. “No getting murdered.”

Koschei tried to unwind Jack’s arms from his torso. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t late and Jack would be more than willing to make sure he was. “I’ll try not to,” Koschei said with a smile. And with that he left.

He could see Jack standing in their open front door from the corner of his eye. Jack had been there for a few of Koschei’s really low points and now made sure that he always had someone looking out for him. Koschei took his keys out and unlocked the doors to his aubergine jaguar. While his parents had been distant and unloving in life, they had left their only child quite a sizable inheritance. The car he had bought as a gift for himself on his 21st birthday and he had claimed that it was a gift he’d have never gotten from his parents. Ever since it had been a prized possession of his. He got in and started up the engine and watched as Jack slowly retreated back into the house. Koschei could feel a sense of excitement that seemed to be tinged in nervousness. He didn’t know what to expect or even what was going to happen. When he’d initially gotten the text he’d meant to respond back in either agreement or turning down the offer but in light of everything he’d forgotten. Koschei was unsure if this person was still up for meeting with someone that hadn’t confirmed their invitation or even turned them down. While he tried to keep open minded, his more curious side was already beginning to look for the red flags in the situation. 

While Koschei hated driving in London, he loved his car and put up with driving in his city because of it. Parking was also a nightmare but again, he put up with it. Moments like these made him wonder why he hadn’t moved away from London when he had the chance. Once he had parked and walked up to the Rose and Crown he stood out front for a minute. While this wouldn’t be his first time in a bar, that didn’t mean he enjoyed going to them. He’d spent a summer in the US a few years back and had left the country with two bar fights under his belt and a small scar on his arm. Since then he’d avoided them in general and Jack had respected that, never once had the other man suggested a date night at one. But he was willingly walking into walking into one now and, deep down, that scared him. If this involved Donna Noble, MI6, and an assassin he wondered what else his curiosity might cause him to do. 

His curious side won out. Koschei headed inside. 

That stock of bright red hair Koschei could recognize anywhere. While he had only met Donna Noble a few times, her fiery hair matcher her equally fiery personality and both were quite memorable. But before he saw her, she had seen him. From across the bar she made eye contact with him and there was not a doubt in Koschei’s mind that he was there to meet her. Out of curiosity or out of fear, he weaved through the bar tables and patrons to get to the red head.

“A female assassin?” She appeared to be wanting to get right to the point. 

She gave off an aura that was intimidating, one that was not to be messed with or you’d be shamed beyond repair. Donna Noble was a scary woman indeed. “Yes.” 

Donna Noble also seemed to not care about what others around her thought and opted for openly speaking her mind whenever she so chose to. She stared him down and, as though she had him under some sort of mind control, he retrieved his phone from his pocket. He handed it over without so much as a question. Why he did this he did not know. She attempted to get into it. “Unlock it,” she said before handing it back.

Again, without question he did.

“You will arrive at that address by 10 AM tomorrow,” she said after swiping through a few pages to get to, what he assumed, was his notes app. Without any further statements, she handed back his phone and left. Koschei was frozen in silence, unsure of how exactly to react to what had just happened. He didn’t notice the short brunette woman come up behind him. 

“She’s like that in the beginning,” the woman said, effectively startling Koschei out of his frozen state.

“What?” He questioned her but the woman simply left. 

\---

Arriving at a building without knowing the context of why you had been summoned there was a strange occurrence, one that would either give him answers or get him killed. Koschei’s curious nature wasn’t known for making the best of decisions. The building in question looked like an average townhome, nothing special about it. It was situated on the middle of an affluent street in London surrounded by, what Koschei could only assume was, the wealthy elite. Despite having his beloved car being a Jaguar, Koschei felt horribly out of place. The perfect white townhouses and their immaculate balcony gardens, not a speck of dirt was out of place on any property and each gave off the image of having a perfect façade. Koschei walks on the front door and knocks. There’s a door knocker and bell but he only notices them afterwards.

A moment later the door opens to reveal the short brunette woman from the night before. “Koschei Oakdown, correct?” She asks. He should question why she knows his name but he is way beyond confused to question much of anything.

“Yes?” He’s not sure if he’s confirming who he is or asking her why she needed to confirm his name.

“Get it,” she opens the door wider to let him in. “Can’t have to witch across the street seeing a new individual here.”

Once the door is closed firmly, the side that is curious and questioning within Koschei begins to return. “Why am I here and what is this place?” At the moment those were the only two questions he could force from his brain.

“Donna will have to answer those for you, it’ll make sense from there on out if she does anyway.” The woman walks towards the staircase that’s situated in the entryway. She turns around and extends an open hand to him. “Clara Oswald.”

While he has reservations about why he was there and what he might now be involved in, Koschei shook her hand anyway. “Koschei.”

With a smile she tells him, “Oh, I know all about you.” Koschei then notices the blue laptop nested under her arm. She, Clara, begins to walk upstairs and Koschei takes this as his lead to follow her. Once they reach the top of the stairs, Clara turns back to him. “There’s not many of us here today so it’ll be awhile before you’ll meet everyone.” And with that she headed towards what appeared to be the only door on the floor. He followed her like a lost dog would have. From what he could see there were only two other individuals in the room at the moment. One he recognized as Donna and the other he had no clue who he was. Donna, still being scary, beckoned Koschei over. “Oy, Assassin Theory.”

Clara laughed as did the unknown man. “Me?” Koschei questioned. He’d been called many things in his life but ‘Assassin Theory’ was a first.

“Yes, you, now come here.”

From what he had already seen of her in their few previous interactions, that woman was something else. “This here is part of MI6. Those of us that work here are an internal organization that tracks international spies and assassins.”

That questioning side of him came back. “Why am I here then? I’m MI5.”

“You were MI5. Remember, I was there when you were fired.”

“Right.”

“You took one look at that file and thought that it was a female assassin, no details, no background. We keep people who can see things like that close. You’re here because I’m offering you a job at MI6.”

“But your partner can never suspect that you work for MI6 or do anything that involves espionage,” Clara says from behind him. 

“If anything, lead him to believe you’re having an affair,” the unknown man says.

“How do you know about my partner?” Koschei asks.

“Didn’t you hear me? I know all about you,” Clara tells him.

“If you’re willing to accept the offer, Assassin Theory, I’m going to need you to start looking into any similarities with other cases while paperwork gets organized. Once that’s all done, then you can be clued in on what we already know. Do you accept it?”

Donna Noble was asking him to look into other crimes, get paid for it, and work for MI6. It didn’t take Koschei more than a few seconds of deliberation to bring her a verdict. Koschei then said two of the most terrifying words he could think of, “I accept.” He’d been looking into serial killers and crimes for years, and now he could get paid to do so by the government. 

Donna smiled, “I’ll get a work on your papers then. Clara and Ryan here I assume can answer any questions that you might have. This here will be your desk but know that they all tend to move around a bit once everyone is here. The printer is over there, it doesn’t require a code like the one at MI5 did.” 

Koschei sat down as Donna turned to leave. He saw Clara set down her laptop at the desk across from him and sit. “Is this normal?”

“Yeah,” she said as she opened the laptop. “Ryan, come sit here.”

The other man, Ryan, came over with a tablet in hand. Koschei was the only one with a desktop computer. Ryan grabbed a chair from another desk and joined them, “She’s not here, it doesn’t matter, mate.” He told Koschei when he gave him a questioning glance. 

Koschei woke up the computer to find that it had an eight digit pass code lock on it. “Uhm, how do I get into this?” He wasn’t asking Ryan or Clara personally, more so it was a general question for either one. 

“Try, 2-3-1-0-1-9-6-3. That usually works until you set up one yourself,” Ryan said.

The string of numbers did in fact work. Koschei was an analyst, he knew he was an analyst. Yet, for some odd reason he knew not why that would be needed. “Now what?” He asked openly once more.

“You’re an analyst, analyze case files,” Clara said across from him without looking up from her laptop. It wasn’t often that Koschei took orders from other people, this was a rare occurrence. Having someone tell him to go forth and look into crimes and analyze them for patterns and similarities was right up his alley. Having someone tell him to go do that was also the kick starter for initiating him to do that. Before he went looking into other cases for similarities, he’d need some basic information for comparison first of all. 

“Do you have a case file for Marie Villanelle?” He asked Ryan this time after he’d seen the other man scrolling through some case files of his own, out of the corner of his eye, on that tablet. 

“Hardcopy or digital?” He asked in return.

Koschei pondered that for a second. It might have been easier to do digitally when looking into small details that might be overlooked on paper. But on paper he’d be able to easily mark up the paper and pick out what exactly he’d need to look for. “Hardcopy, preferably.”

“There’s an unnamed icon on the desktop of your computer there. Click on it and wait a few seconds for it to connect up. Once it has type in these credentials,” Ryan wrote a few strings of letters and numbers down on a post it and handed it to Koschei. “Since you aren’t in the database you can use my login, you’ll have your own by the time you leave today. Once you’re in, in the upper bar type the third row of numbers there exactly and you’ll be into the database. From there you can search for ‘Villanelle, Marie, Morocco’ and your file should come up. Then just print it out.”

It sounded simply enough, and he’d had enough practice trying to break into the various databases that MI5 had on his breaks. It shouldn’t be too bad. Koschei also thought that Yaz might have liked Ryan.

Once the file was printed, Koschei set off to work. 

From what he found in her file, Koschei concluded that Marie Cymbeline Villanelle was born the twelfth of March 1993 in Paris. At the age of 21 she married a man that had been arranged to marry her when she was younger. There were several accounts of police involvement at their home as either her or her husband had called in an attempt to have the other arrested for no apparent reason. Any investigations into their accusations of the other were found to be false and lead to dead ends. Whilst this was going on she ran an atelier in Paris that had international acclaim. In the autumn of two years previous her husband served her with divorce papers on the ground of infidelity, this was not the first time either one had done this. A total of four times prior one had sent the other papers but neither complied to filling them out. That winter she disappeared and resurfaced six weeks later in the city of Chefchaouen, Morocco. She fell off the grid for a few days before turning up again in Marrakech with a woman named Josephine Laurent who she claimed was her lover. While in Morocco Villanelle refused to take any fashion commission. She turned up dead eight months later. Cause of death determined as heavy metal/gold poisoning.

That was all that Koschei had found to work off of. But, he did find the idea of heavy metal poisoning by way of gold to be highly out of the ordinary and most assuredly something that wouldn’t normally be looked for on a toxicology screening. With that Koschei began his profiling to begin looking into any other cases with similarities. Heavy metal poisoning by way of gold couldn’t be that common.

Criminal Profile

Victim: Marie Cymbeline Villanelle (nee Leframboise)  
Profession: Fashion Designer out of Paris, France  
Date of Birth: 03/12/1993 Date of Death: 08/24/2019

Spouse: Andre-Louis Villanelle  
Date of Birth: 11/05/1984

Status: Separated, divorce papers served by Andre-Louis Villanelle

Victimology:

Marie Cymbeline Villanelle was born the twelfth of March 1993 in Paris. At the age of 21 she married a man that had been arranged to marry her when she was younger. There were several accounts of police involvement at their home as either her or her husband had called in an attempt to have the other arrested for no apparent reason. Any investigations into their accusations of the other were found to be false and lead to dead ends. Whilst this was going on she ran an atelier in Paris that had international acclaim. In the autumn of two years previous her husband served her with divorce papers on the ground of infidelity, this was not the first time either one had done this. A total of four times prior one had sent the other papers but neither complied to filling them out. That winter she disappeared and resurfaced six weeks later in the city of Chefchaouen, Morocco. She fell off the grid for a few days before turning up again in Marrakech with a woman named Josephine Laurent who she claimed was her lover. While in Morocco Villanelle refused to take any fashion commission. She turned up dead eight months later. Cause of death determined as heavy metal/gold poisoning.

Set Up of Crime Scene:

The scene is immaculate and perfectly organized. Either this was done by Villanelle or the killer. Clothing is also immaculate to the point where it looks almost staged. Evidence from the scene provided that there was no evidence of a break in.

Organization Level:

The killer is sophisticated and detail oriented. There is a vast level of intellect and knowledge behind this. The killer must have had intimate knowledge of how the poison would have worked as well as how long it would have needed to take effect. Sophistication of the crime implies that the killer was known intimately, either as a family member, close friend, or past lover.

Pre and Post Crime Behavior:

The pre and post crime behavior is unknown.

Individual:

Uses slow poison laced with gold, must have known the victim in some way for quite a while, no evidence of injection site on body shows that there was a level of knowledge or training behind the action(s). The killer is confident in their actions, they know what they are doing. It is likely that this is not the first time they have committed such a crime. If they are going to the lengths at which they are needed to administer the poison then they find some level of enjoyment in the action as they become close with the crime itself. Statistically speaking, women are more likely to use poisons as they are much more personal than a gun or knife.

Therefore, the individual is likely to be a woman with a high level of training behind them. They will be charismatic and charming, likely someone you’d never suspect. They will take joy in the little things but are likely to easily fixate or become distracted. 

Therefore, the individual is likely to be a woman with a high level of training behind them. They will be charismatic and charming, likely someone you’d never suspect. They will take joy in the little things but are likely to easily fixate or become distracted. 

Koschei gathered what he had compiled and set off. He hadn’t noticed that he mumbled his way through most of what he was analyzing. While he was too buried in his profiling he failed to notice Clara or Ryan occasionally glancing at him or Donna standing in a doorway not far from him watching. He was off in his own little world now, the one Yaz so frequently teased him about. 

Hours later he came across only two other cases that seemed to fit with the case of Marie Villanelle, one male and another female. He brought this up to the others and they intently listened in on his findings. When he had finished they all shared a smug smile as though to say, ‘we were right about this one.’ It was Donna that, as she handed him the needed paperwork that he needed to sign, told him about how they had been tracking who they believed to be a female assassin for the past three years and that she was highly methodical in her kills. As of then they had never been able to truly track her down. The rest of the day’s hours were filled with talk and speculation, theory and casework. As Clara and Ryan prepared to leave so too did Koschei. Donna stopped him at the door.

“What we do here is top secret, you are never to say a word of it to anyone outside this building. Are we clear?”

“Yes, mum” he said with a curt head nod in agreement. 

“And with that top secret clearance, we cannot risk any real names of individuals getting into the wrong hands. Therefore, every file is signed with a formal alias that is yours and only yours. From now on you will be ‘O’, remember that. From this point on, Koschei Oakdown is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> If you can't tell, I really like detail to the point where its like I'm there. From this point on it will only be as detailed as this or even more detailed. The former forensic science major in me wants to escape and detail every little bit about the crimes in this.
> 
> Please leave kudos or comment any ideas you might have about this (I promise that I have left both fact and deadness for you in this if you really want to unravel how this is going to go.)
> 
> Cheers!  
> Loki


	3. I'll Be a Good Girl

KIEV, UKRAINE

He would not be quiet. For the love of everything, he would not be quiet. While Thirteen herself wasn’t fond of the silence, she knew when it was warranted. And, Thirteen hated the ones that ran, whole heartedly hated them. This one screamed and he was loud. The target kept on running from Thirteen. He knew he was going to die at this point in time, just as Thirteen knew. She had already administered the first round of poison. Thirteen thought she’d hate if the last thing she ever did was run. She was always running but she’d hate to die running. 

He shouted something at her in Ukrainian. “You know I don’t speak Ukrainian,” Thirteen yelled back.

This time he spoke in muddled English. “I have a family, a wife and children,” he said as he ran.

“I don’t want them.”

The man had looked back to Thirteen while running. In this short window of time he had not noticed the door frame that he ran into. The impact of his body against the door frame, quite literally, floored the man. It was a supply closet door frame, he tried to take this as his shelter. His falling and scurrying, however, gave Thirteen just enough time to catch up right behind him. The man looked rather pathetic hiding in the corner, Thirteen almost felt sorry for him. Taking a moment, she stole a chair from a nearby desk to sit in. She retrieved the second syringe of poison.

“Why are you doing this?” The man asked her.

“Honestly,” she uncapped the syringe in his view. “I have no idea.” He put his right arm up as though to grasp at the bar to try and lift himself up. Thirteen saw the tiny hole on the underside of his arm, right where his Brachial artery was. She took his mistake as her own advantage. Striking quickly, Thirteen lunged at the man and sunk the needle into his artery and administered the toxin. The first injection had been to cause respiratory arrest and muscle paralysis, which hadn’t taken effect, while the second was to stop the heart. She removed the needle once it was empty and sat back. With glassed over eyes, Thirteen watched as the target grew closer and closer to death’s door. 

Thirteen pondered before she left. Why was she doing this?

\---

ROME, ITALY

Thirteen had taken her time getting back to Rome. All roads did lead to Rome, so she would have ended up there eventually. She had meandered around the Ukraine for a few days before heading to Moldova and Montenegro. From there she did return to Rome, by way of hitting Naples first. She knew Idris would not be pleased with her for wandering off yet again. As Thirteen had newly arrived back in Rome, she headed to her apartment. There was not a doubt in her mind that Idris would be there. When she arrived at her apartment her suspicions were confirmed.

“Where did I even have a martini glass?” Thirteen questioned as she saw her handler in her kitchen drinking from said glass.

“It was already here,” Idris liked to be cryptic at times, most of the time.

“Well, breaking in and drinking from a mysterious martini glass that I don’t remember owning is just plane rude.” Thirteen grabs a bottle from one of the cabinets to pour herself a drink. It wasn’t often that she drank, she had forgotten about the existence of alcohol in her apartment on many occasions. Before she could pour a drink for herself she watched as Idris grabbed the card for her latest hit off her countertop. “Hey!” Thirteen tried to grab it back.

“I have told you already, you need to go in for another evaluation,” Idris tried to reason.

“But I don’t want to.”

“Longer assignments require a psychiatric assessment afterward, Thirteen. You know this.”

“But I don’t want to do another one.”

“If you go, I’ll give you some information that you might be interested in.”

“What sort of information?” Thirteen hated when Idris would tempt her like one would a child. She also hated that it worked on her.

“Information involving you.”

Thirteen knew that Idris wouldn’t willingly tell her anything further. She knew that she could force the information out of the other woman, but it would be long and tedious to do. Thirteen doesn’t respond right away. When she finally does, all she asks Idris is, “When do I have to be assessed?” Her voice sounds like it carries the weight of the world in it.

“Tomorrow morning.”

At least Thirteen would have time to ready herself for the assessment, usually it would be right away. But, she had put off being assessed for three weeks now. Idris looks out for her, in ways that she’s never known anyone else to, but she also makes sure things get done. When Thirteen has all but physically left the room, mentally she is somewhere far, far away from there, Idris takes her leave of the apartment. The woman knows better than most that there are times to leave Thirteen alone in her own head. 

It's later on, a dark cast has fallen over everything, when clarity finally returns to Thirteen. She made it back to her sofa with a cup of tea in hand but had no recollection of when either had happened. The tea was stone cold now and her feet had begun to fall asleep, she must have been sitting there for a long while. In times like these, Thirteen wished she could just curl up and hide away from the world. Quickly having to be evaluated after an assignment always had one, and only one, benefit, she’d never be given enough time to dwell on her situation. The psychiatrist was one that always made Thirteen feel like a scared little kid again. They were once someone that was meant to protect Thirteen and keep her safe. But, Thirteen had long since come to terms with the fact that that was just a lie that she had repeatedly told herself so that she could make the best of her situation. 

Thirteen knew now that the psychiatrist wasn’t just a psychiatrist. They thought themselves a doctor and researcher, they were just one person in a sea of millions that thought themselves above everyone else. In their world they were god and could play whatever role they pleased. This kept the Division happy too. When Thirteen was young, in the days before her memory began, the psychiatrist was a ‘motherly’ figure. But, as Thirteen grew older that motherly figure became a doctor that wished to experiment and Thirteen became her victim.

\---

Idris had not trusted Thirteen to willingly go to the psychiatrist’s facility. It had been early when she had shown up at Thirteen’s apartment, not that the inhabitant had realized it was early anyway. Thirteen hadn’t slept at all the night previously, too much information and too many surfacing memories were swirling around in her head to allow sleep to attend to her. Instead she had chosen to get dressed in a loud combination of clothes and wait for her handler to arrive. From her rainbow striped tee shirt to long grey and blue overcoat to even the barely tied old brown boots of hers, Thirteen hadn’t a care in the world how she looked at that moment. The psychiatrist wouldn’t care so Thirteen shouldn’t either. When Idris had arrived to fetch Thirteen, she had found the other woman sat on her sofa looking as though she had been brooding for hours on end. In reality, Thirteen very well had been. 

Idris had found that Thirteen was in a mood where she had not wished to talk about anything. In the time that she had been there, Thirteen had talked on and on but rarely said anything of import. Idris had found the remains of various pieces of dismantled houseware about and could only assume that that was how Thirteen had chosen to entertain herself prior to her arrival. She knew that the other woman tinkered about with a whole manner of things, reconstructing items like clocks and toasters into entirely different devices. It was because of Thirteen that Idris wondered if the Division was right in how they chose their assassins.

Following Thirteen to the psychiatrist’s office, Idris was sure that she wouldn’t go on her own. So long as she gave Thirteen the promised information she had afterward then the other woman would comply with orders, mostly. The building was unassuming to say the least, had neither of them been there before they both would have likely walked past it. But this place was one that they both knew too well. Idris watched as Thirteen walked in the building in a blank state. Not a single emotion was discernible on her face, all that could be seen was what the shadows cast on her. There was golden light that always bathed the rooms there. It was an attempt to seem warm and inviting, thought the menace within was anything but. Idris and Thirteen hadn’t been there long when a woman came to ‘greet’ them. The psychiatrist, a bitch known as Tecteun, was an absolute menace. While Idris knew what Tecteun’s role in all of this was, that didn’t mean that she liked the woman. As a matter of fact, Idris absolutely despised the woman. Since she had been given oversight of Thirteen when she was sixteen, Idris had tried to keep Tecteun away from her. The Division was not fond of this and in turn sent Thirteen on her first long term assignment and required Tecteun to evaluate her “mental state” afterward. Idris knew what her place in society was but seeing Tecteun around Thirteen always made her question it. There had even been a few times where Idris had contemplated having a hit set out on the woman for everything she had done. 

Idris knew that the woman brought out the child-like side of Thirteen, not a happy go lucky child but a sad and scared child like side of her. While she didn’t have any sort of hold on Thirteen, from just the way the air moved around her Idris knew that Thirteen had gone stiff the moment she set eyes on Tecteun. 

For all it was worth, Tecteun threw up that fake smile that attempted to convey that she was kind and only wanted to help. She was not kind and the only one she wanted to help was herself. “Why don’t you come with me.” Idris was disgusted by the sound of the woman’s voice.

Thirteen complied and followed. Like always, there was only one thing that scared her more than her own death and that was whatever Tecteun had in mind for her whenever she had to visit the woman. She, the psychiatrist, led the assassin and her handle through the various halls to a back room that was away from anyone else in the building. While everyone that worked there was part of the Division and knew vaguely what Tecteun did, that did not mean she enjoyed the idea of them all listening in on her techniques. Thirteen was her experiment and she did not like to share. 

The room she had led them too was almost entirely blank. At one point in time there had been a chair that she used to have Thirteen lay down on for their sessions, but she would no longer listen to that. Now it was set up like one would a living room, a sofa and chairs. There was even a coffee table and a nice window with a view of the courtyard. The only thing off putting about the room were the various charts that were either scattered about on the walls or were tucked away in books if you knew which pages to turn to. Thirteen knew which books contained the worst of the charts and diagrams. When she had been seventeen, Tecteun had locked her in the room after a session and all she had to do was look through the books. She had even found her own file hidden away in the room but it had quickly vanished afterwards. Thirteen sat on the sofa and waited for the interrogation to begin. She hated waiting for anything.

As they were hurtled to the point of the universe’s heat death, Tecteun finally spoke. “Hello, Thirteen. How are you doing today?”

Thirteen knew that the other woman didn’t care and her lacking attempt to make it even seem like she might have proved her point. To her, Thirteen was a walking experiment. “Fine,” she forced herself to say.

Tecteun watched Thirteen carefully. Before speaking again, she wrote something on what Thirteen assumed was a chart she had either picked up along the way or one that was already in the room and she had just not noticed it. “When was your last assignment?”

“Two weeks ago.” As Thirteen spoke, Idris sat back in the chair she had claimed for herself. It was not a motion that denoted that she was comfortable with the situation but more accented that she did not like being close to Tecteun much like Thirteen didn’t like being near her either.

The bitch named Tecteun wrote another unseen note down. “What have you done in the past two weeks?”

If it were up to Thirteen she’d never answer any of the woman’s questions. “Nothing much.”

“Would you please elaborate upon what you did in those two weeks?” Her tone was sharp, like a knife edge.

“I traveled around.”

Tecteun wrote down something else. Thirteen thought that if she listened close enough she might just be able to hear the scratch of the pen on her paper and lined it up with what movements of the pen she could see, maybe she’d be able to make out what it said. “Would you consider your last assignment a success?”

“Yes.” Whenever Tecteun was involved, Thirteen had made it her goal to always give her the bare minimum answers.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Thirteen had once thought that she’d come to enjoy her job at some point. Everyone else that she had met that worked for the Division said so, there would eventually be a point where she would enjoy what she did. It had been thirteen long years since the first mission she had been sent on and had yet to enjoy any of it. She was able to travel pretty much everywhere and see almost anywhere. There seemed to be no ends to the money that was thrown at her to take out her targets but yet she never seemed to enjoy it. By this time, she had come to accept that maybe she just wouldn’t find anything that she would enjoy and that everything was a lie. She’d never enjoy her job. She’s never get to explore and travel on her terms. And, once they finally tracked her down, she’d likely be one the run until the end of her days. Thirteen lied to Tecteun the way Tecteun lied to her. “Yes, he kept running.” 

And so, it went on and on and on and on. Thirteen told one lie after another just to get the woman to shut up. She had almost entirely tuned out at some point just so that she didn’t have to be mentally present for her own interrogation. Once everything is over, Thirteen watches Tecteun talk to Idris wish distant eyes. They’re talking about her, she knows they are, but Thirteen cannot find it within herself to listen to them. When she sees Idris get up to leave, Thirteen follows suit. When Idris walks out of the building, Thirteen follows suit. When Idris mingles back in with the people outside, Thirteen follows suit. It’s like this every time Thirteen has to meet with Tecteun and has been since she was fourteen years old. They take the long walk back to Thirteen’s apartment and see all the sites in between. Today they do not stop at a café like they have in the past and instead walk past everyone as though they do not exist. In fact, neither woman acknowledges the very existence of cafes that day. It's mid-afternoon when they finally do reach the apartment and they pair have only just started actually talking to one another again. Idris watched as Thirteen’s bright bubbly personality, the one that never accompanied her on assignments, began to return. 

While Thirteen had taken up residence, laptop in hand, on her sofa in the sitting room, Idris had headed to the kitchen to make some tea. She was toying with the idea of telling the other woman about the information she had promised her first or what Tecteun had decided and Thirteen had clearly not heard. She figured it would probably be best to tell her what the psychiatrist had said first before everything else. When tea was made, Idris went to join Thirteen. Thirteen, as gently as she could, took the cup of tea and patiently waited for Idris to talk. She was not patient nor did she enjoy waiting, so Idris almost laughed at the spectacle before her. Idris took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. 

“Two things,” Idris told her and she watched as Thirteen scrunched up her face in displeasure. “And one of them is what I promised I’d tell you.” Thirteen relaxed her face just a little. “Don’t try to deny it, you didn’t listen to a word Tecteun said.” 

Even if Thirteen had tried to deny Idris’ accusation, she knew that she wouldn’t have been on stable ground to do so. As much as she hated it sometimes, she thought that Idris might know her better than she knew herself.

Idris continued, “You’ve been cleared to keep taking assignments. However, there is one condition to that right now.”

Thirteen could feel the muscles in her face wanting to tense up once more. “What?”

“For a short while, you’ll have to have three others assigned to work with you.”

Thirteen didn’t even try to stop her face from scrunching up this time.

“Missy, Millennia, and Mortimus.”

Thirteen hadn’t had to work with Mortimus in a long time so she was unsure if he had changed at all. Millennia scared her to a certain degree, the petite woman looked like an angel but would stab you in the back so quickly that she wouldn’t even bat an eye. And Missy, well they hadn’t really split on good terms. What they had had been fun while it lasted but they both knew that they wouldn’t have been able to keep whatever it was that they had. Thirteen could only muster up the word, “When?”

“At the start of your next assignment. Moving on from that now, I’ve heard some things you might be interested in,” Idris sat back against the arm of the sofa. This time it was not like she had been in Tecteun’s office. She was comfortable in Thirteen’s apartment, and Thirteen knew this. 

Thirteen did not speak up, she did look up though.

“MI6 has organized a team to look into you.”

“Am I being sent to take them out?” Thirteen asked.

Idris set her cup down on the small table in front of the sofa and stood up. “You’re not being sent out after them. In fact, I thought you might be curious enough to look into one of them.”

“Why? See if the Division would want them?”

“No again.”

“Then why?” Thirteen didn’t like when Idris was cryptic.

“One of the people leading the investigation is a man named Koschei Oakdown, but they’re calling him ‘O’ now.” Idris made her way to the front door. Before she left she finished her statement by telling Thirteen. “That’s spelled K-O-S-C-H-E-I O-A-K-D-O-W-N, and he's your type.” Idris’ little side comment was the last thing Thirteen heard before the door shut firmly. 

Thirteen tried to tell herself that she wouldn’t do a deep dive search on the man. But, Thirteen was curious and it was her curiosity that would always get her in trouble. She debated with herself for an hour before finally succumbing to the curious instinct and began her search. 

By the break of dawn, Thirteen’s search of this Koschei Oakdown had brought up much about the man. Koschei himself was not on social media so there was no real way to track him that way but Thirteen knew her way around back channels. He was just two months older than her and had come from a wealthy family. His parents had died when he was a teenager and he didn’t have any siblings. The man had graduated top of his class in everything but had turned down numerous high profile offers afterwards to go to MI5 instead. Thirteen had even come across photos of his partner, Jack Harkness, a former US Air Force Captain that had been honorably discharged after a training accident. However, out of all the information she had come across there was one thing that stuck out in her mind. Koschei had grown up in a small town in northern England that was called ‘Gallifrey.’ The name sounded startlingly familiar to her but she could not place why. She didn’t know if she knew the name from somewhere, if it was just something she’d heard in passing once, or if she’d ever had a hit there. But Thirteen was sure that the name was familiar in some way. She just had to figure out how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels really short but I didn't want to give too much away too soon. Originally this chapter and the previous one were a single chapter but I broke it up for the sake of variation. Maybe in future chapters I'll keep up with this broken up point of view chapters in the future or maybe I won't. Thoughts? 
> 
> Also, why I say this is a Killing Eve AU I mean that its only vaguely a Killing Eve AU. Its got elements from Killing Eve, but I love the spy genre so there's going to be a lot of different things that are taken into account with this other than just Killing Eve.
> 
> Cheers!  
> Loki


	4. Nightmare at the Opera

LONDON, ENGLAND

It had been four weeks since Koschei, or O, had been brought on board at MI6. Four weeks since the assassination of Marie Villanelle and two since a businessman in Kiev had been murdered in a familiar way. In that time, O had not managed to track down any information on the assassin, who by now suspected likely had a violent past and enjoyed what they were doing, but he had managed to come up with a sort of pattern in the hits. Each seemed to take place at night or in dark and unsuspecting rooms. Also, the assassin seemed to have a pension for using obscure poisons or something equally as dangerous that would be administered by injection. There did seem to be a string of assassinations that were a bit more on the dramatic side that would occur around the same time as a quieter hit. 

Thus far he had managed to loosely like 10 unsolved cases involving poisons to the assassin and each seemed to have a similar crime scene. The more dramatic ones, the number being four, all took place within days of a poisoning and in the same geographic area. Four days before Marie Villanelle was killed in Marrakesh, across the city another business man was found with his abdomen ripped open and numerous internal organs removed and displayed around his body. If Marie Villanelle’s death had been a quiet affair, this man’s had been long, drawn out, and as loud as can be. It made Koschei think that maybe Marie’s death had been the hit and the other man’s had been for fun. In the case of the Ukrainian businessman who had also been poisoned, two days later another man had been found with his throat slit so deep that if any more strength had been applied he would have been decapitated. Koschei was also starting to think that the assassin was behind the deaths of Josephine Laurent and the guards.

Asides from looking for patterns in unsolved murder cases, Koschei had also given himself another task. He made it a goal to convince Donna, who refused to be called anything other than her first name, that Yaz would be perfect for the little team that he was now listed as working on. With her experience in the police force she had seen a whole range of people and what they were capable of. She had also, unwillingly, listened to Koschei profile numerous murderers and serial killers in her time at MI5 and had frequently put in her own side notes on what they must have been like. Had Yaz not been drafted for MI5 not long after her probationary period, Koschei thought that she would have made a decent detective one day with how she liked seeing into the bigger picture. After three weeks and a thorough background check, which he had found that Donna had also done on him, Donna relented and had Yaz summoned to MI6. Koschei wasn’t surprised that when she had first arrived she had gotten along with both Clara and Ryan like a house on fire. What had surprised him, as well as the others present for the exchange, was the realization that both of them had attended Redland’s Primary at the same time. 

Donna had apparently been attempting to gather more information on the assassin for quite a long time. Once she had the contact she had become relentless in her pursuit, as Koschei had learned. When she had obtained an elusive contact that had information on the assassin they were trying to track down and finally caved it had been like a sudden celebration in their office. Donna later denied this occurring- and by later she was denying it within half an hour- but still went forth with setting a meeting time and date. When the contact had gotten back to her they had decided, for her which Donna was not fond of, that the meeting would take place the following Tuesday in Paris. More specifically, Donna was allowed to send two of her agents to the 8pm showing of the Phantom of the Opera at Paris, Palais Garnier. While she had initially chosen Clara and Ryan to go, who had been working on the assignment longer, they had told Donna that they should send Koschei and Yaz. Koschei would be able to get a quick profile on not only the assassin but gather a profile on the informant as well. He, and Yaz, had both been a touch reluctant at first but when Donna mentioned that the informant was on good authority that the assassin would be in Paris as well that night he was more than willing to go.

PARIS, FRANCE

Koschei had decided that he would question Donna later on who her contact was and why they had been certain that the assassin would be in Paris that night. Find now, question later. He was living by this mantra. Yaz, stood by his side, was also repeating over and over again in her mind the very same phrase. They had to embody it, those four little words had to become both their existences even if only for the night. However, this was made very difficult to remember once they stepped inside. And thought asides from being awestruck with craftsman’s beauty was difficult to keep. To say a sight had jointly taken their breath away would have been an understatement.

Koschei knew that he had been to the Palais Garnier at least once when he was very little. His mother had kept a photo of him sitting on its grand staircase, in it he must have been no older than three. He had no recollection of being there after that, not that he even remembered attending at such a young age in the first place. Yaz on the other hand had never been. If Koschei were a writer he could have written endless tomes just on the amazement that graced her entire being. 

From crisp marble stairs to intricately detailed carvings that decorated every surface, not an expense was paid. The pair walked up the stairs and away from the Palais’ Bassin de la Pythie to get to the grand staircase itself. From the quick search Koschei had done no long before arriving at the Palais Garnier, if Yaz was amazed by the Bassin then she was about to be completely blown away. With each step the both climbed to the landing of the foyer Yaz’s head seemed to fall back and away from her body. Koschei himself tried to keep in his own wonder and awestruck glee. Yet with the grandeur of the room, Koschei watched as Yaz craned her neck back to take in the beauty that was the ceiling above the grand staircase. Koschei’s attention was held by the close details. The intricacies of the marble carving adorning the sides of the upper staircase and the gold leaf that glittered in the corner of his eyes, an homage to the romanticism that was Greco-Roman sculpture that had yet to be seen again on this Earth. In the distance, meters above his head, stood the subtle ionic columns that held the magnificent ceiling such a ways up that the classical painting of deities truly appeared to be a beautiful window into the heavens. With the golden hues and other worldly imagery, Koschei too began the regretful crane of his neck to take in his surroundings.

While they both wished that they had arrived earlier so that they had more time to take in the majesty that was the halls of the Palais Garnier, they had a show to attend and an informant to meet. The informant had picked out the seats beforehand, neither Yaz nor Koschei had a choice. But Koschei, who had seen the Phantom of the Opera before, smiled as they got closer to their seats. Box five, the Phantom’s box seat. Yaz, still enamored by her surroundings, continued to look around in awh. While the theater was not the same type of opulence that the foyer and staircase had had, it was still a sight to behold. All gold fixtures and rich red velvets, the space continued to cement the fact that it had once been meant for an Emperor. They took their seats and began to wait, not only for the performance to begin but for the unnamed informant as well.

___

Unbeknownst to Koschei and Yaz, the unnamed informant had been tailing the assassin they were looking for months. However, they did not know that said assassin was in attendance that evening and so too were two others. Initially there had been three others following the assassin but one of her “companions”, as she had dubbed them, had offed the one male of the group. 

After Idris had introduced Thirteen to Missy, Millennia, and Mortimus three days prior, the three women had taken an instant annoyance to Mortimus. While both Millennia and Thirteen had wished that he would just disappear on his own, Missy was impatient. It had been in quick succession, them being assigned to a hit in Paris not long after meeting. While it wasn’t another long duration hit for Thirteen, which she was glad about, she’d have to work with others which did not please her. On top of that she also had two other factors that were still swirling around in her head. The business man in Kiev was still lurking in her mind, his “Why are you doing this” still haunted her. Asides from the beginning to question why she was an assassin for the Division in the first place there was the matter of Missy. While, yes, it had been a few years since she had last seen Missy that didn’t mean that they had last ended on a good or even remotely decent note. A few years previously, Missy and Thirteen had attempted to date but that hadn’t ended well for either of them. In the end Thirteen had been sent to South America for a string of hits and Missy had been sent to solitary confinement. And for her safety as well as the safety of others, another assassin, Twelve, had been assigned to watch over her. Missy being carded off to solitary had been the last Thirteen had seen of the other woman until just a few days ago. She had hated how she had been instantly drawn to the other woman again. Lucky for her though, this time around Millennia would also be there so if need be she could break them apart. It had always been the other woman’s eyes that kept drawing her in, like a moth to flame.

Thirteen hoped that maybe, just maybe, Missy would be distracted by Millennia. If Millennia could hold Missy’s attention for just long enough, Thirteen hoped that she’d be able to not only distance herself from her former lover but also to put down any remaining feeling towards her. She had wrestled with her demons when her and Missy had split and like hell was she going to let them resurface. With Missy not on the forefront of her mind, Thirteen was free to think of the latest individual that had caught her attention. In the little time that she had had, Thirteen had scoured every corner of the internet and any databank she could get her hands on for the mysterious Koschei Oakdown. When she had finally managed to track down a photo of him she had saved it to her phone as quickly as possible. She told herself that it was in case she ever ran into him, she’d know what he’d look like immediately. But, Thirteen knew herself, or at least she thought she did, and likened that she saved it because of his eyes. It was always the eyes of a person that would get the best of her. Sometimes Thirteen wondered if Idris purposely told her about certain individuals to distract her for any reason.

“Dear, come along now,” Thirteen felt Missy’s hand wrap around her wrist. The other woman gently pulled her away from the elegant sights to behold so that the three of them were on time for the showing. Millennia quickly came up to her other side. In no time at all, Thirteen found herself all but physically pinned between the two other women. 

Having been to Paris numerous times before, with how many hits either her or another assassin had had in the city she had started to refer to it as the ‘City of Death’, Thirteen had never been inside the Palais Garnier. She now understood why. Had she visited on her own she would have easily gotten lost in the beauty of her surroundings. Luckily for her, Missy and Millennia were not as easily distractible at the moment and the pair knew where exactly their seats were and when to be in them by. Thirteen diligently accompanied her companions to their seats, box six. The three of them would be alone in what was their box, it would be their place of peace and relaxation before tracking down a hit later in the night. Before arriving, Thirteen had checked if there was a way to trade their seats for that of box five’s. While she hadn’t seen the Phantom of the Opera before, she had heard of the Phantom’s pension for likening the seats in box 5 and thought it would be interesting to see the show from those exact seats. But, alas they were already taken by another party of three. 

Once they took their seats, Millennia spoke quietly with Missy. Thirteen might have minded being excluded from their conversation had she not been here before. Unlike Thirteen, both Millennia and Missy had been to the Palais before. It was more often than not that Thirteen would be sent out for a hit in a place she had already been, or at least vaguely knew, but now she was in all new territory and was adamant to take in everything. As she stared up at the ceiling, she heard voices behind her. Not only were the sounds of Millennia and Missy caught up in their retelling to one another about how they had managed to ditch Mortimus on the way there but there were also the voices just outside their box of those whom she assumed had taken box five. One male and one female, both from northern England by the sound of it. Both accents sounded not that far off from her own accent but at the same time sounded wildly different. When she had been investigating the mysterious Koschei Oakdown she had figured out that the small town of Gallifrey was in the north of England, she thought that maybe she was being too hopeful that the male voice was Koschei. After all, many people are from the north. 

__

Yaz and Koschei’s quiet chatter did not stop as they took their seats. While Yaz had still been slightly distracted by the artistry around her, Koschei had taken to subtly watching the other patrons in the seats nearest them in hopes that he might see their informant. However, even if he did see them he had not a clue what they looked like so he’d be unlikely to recognize them anyway. While looking out he did notice that the box next to theirs seemed to be occupied by three women. There were two brunettes by the looks of it caught up in their own conversation and a third, a blonde, that seemed to be off in her own world taking in the sight of the theater ceiling. Much like he assumed Yaz would be doing once they sat down as well. 

By the time the show had begun, the unnamed informant had yet to appear. 

“ _ Lot six-six-six then,”  _ rang out from the stage below. “ _ a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the opera, a mystery never fully explained. We are told, ladies and gentleman, this is the very chandelier which figures in that famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it and fitted parts with wiring for the new electric light so that we may get a hint of how it may look when it is reassembled.”  _ The auctioneer on stage paused and yet the informant had yet to show. “ _ Perhaps, we may even frighten away the ghosts of so many years ago with a little illumination. GENTLEMAN!”  _ The chandelier above the stage began to rise. As the opening bars of the Phantom’s overture rang out amongst the crowd, not a soul could be heard. 

Entranced by the stage itself and the aura of the music, neither Koschei nor Yaz heard their mysterious informant take his seat. He was quiet, not a peep, not a word. Well, he said a few words when he was ready.

“When the real one fell, it killed a man.”

If Yaz could have jumped out of her skin at that moment she would have. Koschei attempted to keep calm and not react. He turned around to face who he assumed was the informant. The man was bald and wore an awfully red coat.

“Are you O and J?” He asked.

Koschei retorted with, “Who’s asking?” 

“Did Donna Noble send you?”

Yaz answered this time, “Yes.” She was evidently reluctant to speak but knew Koschei well enough that she knew that he would just question the other man further. He gave her a sideline glare when she spoke. 

The man gave them both a look that expressed his slight annoyance with them, mainly with Koschei. He handed Yaz an envelope and sat back in his seat. For the rest of the show he was silent.

Contained within the envelope was a single piece of paper. The paper read: 

__

_ The Division is dangerous. _

_ The Division is unrelenting. _

_ They care not for personal relations, only that the job is done. _

__

_ Records indicate that they have been operating for the last sixty years under complete anonymity. There are governments willing to hire them so that they have someone to carry out their dirty work. They will do whatever they deem necessary to meet their own goal, even offering up their own as sacrificial lambs. Those that are “sacrificed” do not usually make it long afterwards. They will have a hit placed out on them. When this is done the individual is branded a traitor to the organization and anything, absolutely anything, they say is considered treason to them. If they so much as say hello to an individual this is considered treason, those branded traitors are expected to remain completely silent for the rest of their lives. When they have “committed treason” the assassin tasked with taking them out will be instructed to do so as slowly and as painfully as possible. _

__

_ As of this date, there are only three recorded instances of such treason occurring and a former member being killed. To commit treason against the Division is seen as signing one’s own death sentence. _

__

_ With that being said, it is expected that they never mention a word to law enforcement anywhere, that too is considered treason. Going off grid or avoiding carrying out a hit is considered treason. Anything you do that is not mandated or done at the strict and explicit orders of the Division is considered a treasonous act and you will be executed for it.  _

__

_ While the Division operates with assassins mostly, note that they are more than just that. They have their hands in politics, entertainment, business, almost everything. If you are to try and take down the Division in any way, you will need someone who knows how they operate and how they work exactly. Those few that are willing will likely be dead soon. _

__

_ Know also that, when it comes to their assassins, they have a strict protocol. Willing participants or unwilling, volunteers or kidnappees. When they are “owed a debt”, the Division expects the debtor to offer up a family member as payment. Either this individual can be willing, which the Division brainwashes them into thinking it is an honor, or if the debtor does not then a family member is stolen. In this case it is usually a young child as they see them as the easiest to control.  _

Yaz read through the letter first before handing it off to Koschei. With such information, both found it rather difficult to concentrate on the show after that. With each moment further that the Division was on either of their mind, the more unsettling the idea of them became. Never mind the fact that they were real and not just an idea. Koschei had agreed to come to Paris for information and had wholeheartedly believed that information would be pertaining to the assassin he was trying to track down. What he had been given was not on the assassin but apparently for the organization that the assassin, he guessed, worked for. Koschei thought that if they were a willing participant then they were a hell of a lot more dangerous than he had initially thought. They were willing to kill for the Division and they enjoyed it.

Once the Phantom finished, ‘All I Ask of You’ intermission was called shortly after. Fifteen minutes and they’d start again. The informant, whom neither Yaz nor Koschei had managed to gather the name of, left. Koschei had a feeling they would not be seeing him again. With his departure behind them, Yaz turned to Koschei to tell him that she would be back soon. He assumed she was off to see more of the opera house, he would have too had his left leg not fallen asleep so long ago. 

__

The patrons of box six had grown bored of the show. Well Millennia and Missy had grown bored, Thirteen had tentatively watched and hung on their every word. Thirteen heard the skirt of Millennia’s dress move. “We might be back,” Millennia told Thirteen. “You might want to keep your phone on in case we don’t.” And like that the two of them were gone. 

Thirteen, who did not like quiet, sat back with her eyes closed and relaxed. She didn’t think to relax often, much like she didn’t sleep properly often. From the beginning she had always been told that sleep and relaxation were for other people. She listened as people from box five left, two of them. Two had taken the seats earlier, she assumed that the seats were now empty. As relaxed as she was, and without Missy and Millennia behind her, Thirteen didn’t want to move but she was curious as to why box five seemed so special. Thirteen decided that if she were to go over and see for herself what was so special about box five she’d wait a bit first.

___

Koschei had taken the envelope and tucked it away inside his jacket, Yaz hadn’t a place to store it and neither of them wanted to lose it. It was more evidence than they, or maybe even the rest of the team back at MI6, had anticipated receiving. Right now, that envelope was a gold mine to them and they could not lose it under any circumstances. He had fixed his jacket back to hide the envelope before resituating himself in his seat. Unlike Yaz, he had no intention of getting up until the performance was over. He reclined back as much as his seat would allow him and pulled out his phone before flipping through various different apps. It was times like these that he almost wished he had set up some sort of social media to keep his attention, it would have been helpful keeping his mind of the Division and any assassins.

“What?” Thirteen had thought the box would have been empty.

When Koschei turned around he hadn’t been expecting to be interrupted by the blonde woman from the box next door. “Hello.”

Thirteen took one look at the man, who was now facing her, and her brain went into overdrive. That was Koschei! Koschei was here! He was right in front of her! She’d seen him before at the Langham Hotel. That’s why he had seemed familiar! To try and keep from saying too much, Thirteen made an attempt to return to her own box. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” she tried to step back. Koschei seemed to be against this however. While he didn’t physically stop her from leaving, in fact he didn’t even get up from his seat, it was his words that stopped her. 

“There’s no one else,” he smiled at her carefully. “You can stay if you like, really, I don’t mind.”

Thirteen knew that it was a bad idea, staying that is, but she couldn’t find it in herself to honestly stop her. This man was heading an investigation into her, so Idris said, and he was right in front of her. It was between curiosity and Koschei that led her to stay. If he could investigate her, why couldn’t she investigate him?

__

Outside the auditorium, Yaz found herself once again staring up at the beautiful ceilings. On her phone she had searched for images of the Palais and had come across photos of its beautiful grand foyer. She had decided that before returning to the show she had to see it for herself. Making her way to the foyer, Yaz failed to notice that she was being watched.

Missy and Millennia had come to an agreement, early in the show while Thirteen wasn’t listening, that their hit would be a quick and easy one and there was also the added benefit that it was nearby. They had decided that during intermission, Missy would sneak out and quickly take out the target before returning all the same. It was Millennia who had brought up the idea of taking someone to round out their little group and both women had agreed that the woman sitting in box five had been rather nice on the eyes. She then became their designated target. Millennia had followed her to the grand foyer, which was surprisingly empty. Bathed in both gold and moonlight, Millennia stepped back and watched her before making a move.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” It wasn’t often that Millennia used her native French accent around people that weren’t in the Division. Most of the time she passed off the image that she was from London instead. 

Yaz turned around at the sound of her voice, startled out of her trance. “It is,” she thought that there would be no harm in speaking to the other woman so long as she didn’t reveal why she had actually been there in the first place. As the woman drew closer Yaz was able to get a better view of her. With the way she moved about, Yaz felt like she had slipped into a trance like state. There was just something about her that made it so that she couldn’t take her eyes off her. 

__

Koschei had been speaking with Thirteen, who had told him her name was Emma Croft, for the past ten minutes when intermission was brought to an end. He saw as she seemed to get a text from someone. After that she returned to her seat but Koschei heard from beyond the barrier that she had quickly left. He thought it strange, given that the show was about to start up again and with how interested she seemed to have been in the story itself. But, alas she could have just fooled him into thinking that she liked it. As lights were dimmed and curtains opened once more, the masquerade began. Yaz was still not back. The masquerade finished and soon they had moved onto the third scene of the second act and Yaz was still nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Koschei’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at his phone and saw that there was a waiting text. Only one text and that text was from Yaz.

‘HELP’ 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> I don't know what to say here right now other than I meant to have this out a few days ago but, let me tell you, looking at photos of the Palais Garnier is really distracting.
> 
> Cheers!


	5. Shall We Play a Game?

MONTE CARLO, MONACO

It was an elegant establishment for what it was worth. The finer things in life could have even come from its very walls. In the middle of the room, the casino of the rich, sat a poker table on which a game was in the midst of being played. One man had just thrown in his last million to play, his all in. All cocky and sure of himself, it was to be a fatal move on his part. A server came up behind him to bring him another martini, either as a courtesy or as a way of telling him his loss would be easier with another drink. For a masterful player, the man was quite too full of himself. 

"All in," the dealer collected the tiles. "Show card please."

His cocky additive had gotten the better of him. The man to his left had been harboring a queen of clubs and ace of diamonds. 

The dealer now looked to the cocky man that was quickly deflating internally. "Two pairs, aces and sevens." The man threw in his ace of clubs and Jack of spades, the worthless cards in the face of defeat. "Queen play wins." The dealer moved the chips and tiles towards the other man. 

For as cocky as the man was, he was quite observant. Not a drop of blood in his body trusted anything about the suave and sophisticated man on the left. With each gesture, movement, and breath he became all the more unsettling to be around. The cocky man gave a sideline glare to the suave poker player. Said player simply collected back up his earnings. It seemed as no one heard the sound of expensive heels on the casino floor walking closer to them. By the time the cocky man looked up a woman had already taken the vacant seat. The very same woman who had left not too long ago covered in the beginning of a cold sweat. When the suave man looked up at her all motions stopped. It was the first time since he sat that the man was truly still. 

"Well, sorry. The last hand could have killed me," she declared, her smooth tone matching that of the suave man's demeanor. She looked towards the nearby waiter. "I think I'd best change my drinks to water now."

She paid no mind to the cocky man getting up from the table and walking away. 

___

"Gentleman," there was little verbal acknowledgement that a woman was sitting at the table as well. "With this chip exchange, we enter the final phase of the game. Which means no more buy ins. The big bling is now one million dollars."

___

As the woman retook her seat across at the table across from the suave man, after both had grabbed drinks at the bar. The suave man restacked his chip tiles, making sure that they stood in perfect columns before continuing his game. She did the same.

Once all players were situated, after the woman had decided to take off her jacket and place it to the back of the chair, the Dealer began again. “Four players,” the cards he set out were the ace of hearts, eight, six, and four all of spades. “It is your bet.” As he spoke, the suave man fiddled with a red chip in his hand

The woman looked at the suave man. He glanced down at his chips and cards. One of the other players glared at him while the other watched the space just beyond the dealer. 

“Mademoiselle Yard?” The dealer asked her.

“Check,” her eyes never left the suave man.

“Check,” he turned his attention to the other side of the table, to the other players.

Not too far off stood a man and woman that watched the game. She had come with Ms. Yard, Usha Rani. While she had been paying attention it was him, Drax Rosser, that had been paying attention to the game at hand. 

He leaned over to her to disrupt her watching for just a moment. “Twenty four million in the pot already,” he said as she tilted her head closer to him. For just a moment, she looked at all the chips currently at play on the table. 

The cocky man from earlier returned. He stood near to Usha but not too close. He would not admit it, as his ego would not allow it, but she gave off an aura of fear. It was not her own fear, but that others should fear her.

“Check,” the dealer called out once again. “Check, all check.” The cocky man balled his hands together and rested his forearms on the back of the chair. He too watched the game at play now. 

The dealer looked back down at his deck of cards. “Four players.” He turned over another card. This time the card was the ace of spades. 

Ms. Yard spoke first, “Check.”

The dealer gave her a sideline look. “Check,” he confirmed.

One of the other players, Lord Ravensworth, fixed his playing chips. Six neat stacks of ten chips each, he slid them all forward. “All in, six million.” 

The man closest to him looked at him. It was not a look of someone who knew they had the better hand but instead was the look of an individual that did not trust his opponent, and rightly so. He watched for any change in Lord Ravensworth and change in breath or even the slightest air of uncertainty in his voice. He was still watching him as the dealer moved onto him. 

“Bet, six million all in,” he didn’t verbally address the next player.

The man who had been watching, Edwin Green, situated his own chips now. He then slid them forward. Edwin chose not to speak so as to not give away anything in his voice. Instead he raised his hand to the dealer.

“Five million, all in,” the dealer said. “Bet is at six million.”

Now was onto the suave man. He still flipped chips, now two as opposed to just one, between his fingers. The man, Geoffrey Thynne, gathered up four blue tiles and placed them atop to perfect stacks of twenty chips each. 

Ms. Yard watched him intently.

“Raise,” he slid all of it forward as he stared at Ms. Yard dead in the eye.

“Raise,” the dealer said, “Twelve million. Bets up.” 

Ms. Yard and Mister Thynne caught each other in a deadly stare. The kind you’d give to someone that you intended to know that this was it for them. Neither of them could read off the other what the cards in their hand could have been. Not that it mattered for either of them. Both had been sent to kill the other, in their own ways both had grown far too powerful. 

Usha, who was now watching the game, had hopes that Ms. Yard knew what she was doing. She knit her hands together as she chose to rest them just beneath her chin. Drax looked between Ms. Yard and Mister Thynne. 

Ms. Yard contemplated the options she had at her disposal. She could either risk a portion of her chips like Thynne had or put her faith in risk and chance. Before making a decision she looked up to catch Mister Thynne’s eye. He was confident in his decision. She could tell by the look in his eye that he was comfortable in his risk, while he had risked twelve million it had not been his entire pot. His stare was intense, but she was well versed in the delicate art of reading one’s eyes. He thought his hand could win and therefore he chose not to have any reaction whatsoever. Not a movement of his eyes, not a movement of either chip in his hand, not even a muscle in his face twitched, these were all fatal errors in judgment in Ms. Yard’s book. She took a breath and at that moment was when he decided to begin moving the chips again in his hands. From the look she could tell that he hoped this subtle movement and noise would be enough to distract her, even if just for a moment. However, he was clever and so was she. 

Ms. Yard set one of her stray chips back on a stack. Usha would hate this decision, she knew it. But, it wasn’t Usha that was playing the game. “Forty million five hundred thousand, all in.” A gasp rang out amongst everyone as Ms. Yard pushed every chip and tile in front of her into the circle of the table. What was the point in a game of risk if no risks were taken?

Usha felt the air leave her body for a split second but that was her only reaction, Drax had to hide his shock behind a well-crafted mask. It was good that they didn’t know each other or else they might have registered what the reactions meant. For Drax it was that Mister Thynne would have to counter with an equally ludicrous amount to suddenly dump in the pot. As for Usha, she thought her lover was having too much fun and was getting caught up in the game. 

Ms. Yard had pushed in all her playing pieces and to her it was satisfying to hear them fall from their neat stacks. It also had the added bonus of being an annoyance to her opponent as he was detail oriented and this disrupted the details on the table. Everyone else’s all ins had been in nice neat stacks, even Mister Thynne’s safe play, but now Ms. Yard’s were in complete disarray. She could almost feel him recoil internally from the disruption. She reveled in his disturbance.

“Raise, all in,” the dealer spoke out amongst the gasps. He now looked at Mister Thynne before glancing back to his laid out cards.

Mister Thynne looked down at the cards in contemplation before glancing around the table. He checked his own cards again. With only a slight movement of his fingers he moved the cards in such a way that he could see both of them at once. Ms. Yard saw him make one fatal mistake. The left corner of his mouth picked up just slightly as he looked at the cards. She now had all the information she needed. He was sure he was going to win, there was no other reason for him to grin ever so slightly. She thought, no she knew, he was willing to risk everything now. “Well, I think I will call you on that one,” he said after he had scoffed. Without realizing, he had just confirmed Ms. Yard’s suspicions. He threw all his remaining chips and tiles into the pot with a complete and total disregard for any organization or neatness. His ego was getting the best of him. Ms. Yard watched as he even unceremoniously dropped the two chips he had been flipping in his hands into the pot as well. 

To her extensive training, Ms. Yard thanked for her stone expression. Once he was done with his little show his face returned to an expression that couldn’t be read, except for the eyes.

“Called,” the dealer says. The pair stare at one another once more. Neither realized the other two players had turned their glances on them as well. 

“One hundred and fifteen million in the pot,” Drax tells the now attentive Usha. 

“Gentleman,” the dealer states to the table, disregarding the one woman at the table. 

“Show hand, please.” 

First Lord Ravensworth throws in his two cards. “Flush, ace king and queen,” the dealer replaces the ace of hearts and four of spades. 

Mister Green grins as he throws his cards in. Ms. Yard can tell that he thinks he is going to have the winning hand. “Full house, eights full of aces.” The dealer returns the ace of hearts to the spot that the king of spades formerly held before moving on to place Mister Green’s two eights. The eight of spades and eight of hearts replace the six of spades and four of spades. The queen of spades is discarded.

Mister Thynne just stares at the cards for a moment, unmoving. He glances down at his cards once before placing them down on the table face up. The cards he reveals are an ace of clubs and the six of hearts. Mister Thynne looks to his right at the man that had just thrown in his cards and grins.

“A higher full house,” the dealer proclaims upon noticing which cards were just revealed. “Aces full of sixes,” he takes the cards and rearranges the cards in front of him to display the higher full house hand. Mister Thynne looks to his accomplice, Drax, and smiles just so. If you blinked you would have missed it. At that moment Usha realizes what a danger she’s been playing, standing near and talking to the accomplice of an enemy. In that moment she understands the exhilarating feeling she assumed Ms. Yard got the moment she put all her chips in play. 

The cards now read: ace of hearts, ace of clubs, six of spades, six of hearts, and finally the ace of spades.

“Mademoiselle Yard?” The dealer asks.

Ms. Yard knows her hand. She knows the rules of the game and she knows what it takes to win. Without changing even the slightest bit of her stone expression she slides her cards across to the dealer before turning them over so that he could see them. She turns them over to reveal a five and seven of spades. And she does this while looking Mister Thynne directly in the eye. An excited gasp of sorts builds in the crowd that can see the cards that quickly grow to the rest of the room. Still, not a part of her expression has changed but she can see Mister Thynne’s begin to change just from his eyes. As she leans back, both as a sign of establishing who at the table is the dominant and as a step back from the game, the audience begins a quiet applause. The displeasure in loss and anger in Ms. Yard is starting to build up in Mister Thynne, and both of them know it. 

“Five and seven of spades,” the dealer says as he moves the eight, six, and four spades above the aces. He places down the five and seven in their rightful places. “A straight flush, four to eight, the high hand.”

Mister Thynne straightens his back but he does not recline in his chair as Ms. Yard did. Instead he gets up from the table and leaves, Drax follows not far after him. He refuses to hear his failure to win out. 

“Mademoiselle Yard wins.”

Ms. Yard reaches around for a red tile and passes it over to the dealer. “For you,” she says before getting up to go to Usha.

He doesn’t look down at it directly, but he does see its color out of his peripheral. “Thank you.” A tip for five hundred thousand wasn’t bad for a day. 

The cocky man laughs but Usha is quiet. Usha goes to her lover’s side. While she could have played the game, there’s no way she would have taken as quite a risk as her partner had. The pair left the casino after Ms. Yard had collected her earnings. Both of them knew where to find Geoffrey Thynne, he’d be there in the morning too.

___

A sleek black car pulled up the driveway of the villa after it had passed the immaculate front gates. Mister Geoffrey Thynne had been out for morning business but was returning at only half past eleven. It was a beautiful day out and after having to make deals to recoup his losses from the night previously he had planned on not doing much for the rest of the day. Plans could wait until tomorrow and the Mediterranean looked gorgeous today. He drove down to just in front of his villa and parked the car. Later on, he’d send out a valet to move the car somewhere else, but that was not a job for him to do. He had paid help to carry out the meaningless tasks of the day that he could not be bothered to do. He got out of the car and walked around it. Mister Thynne looked out over the sea for a short while, just taking in the beauty of it. It wasn’t often that he had enough time to take in the beauty of his environment. The small ripples on the surface, the cool breeze that blew, and the perfect reflections of light dancing just so and looking mind bogglingly gorgeous. 

The phone in his pocket had the audacity to break his tranquility at that moment. It rang with the annoying shill it always did. He always intended to change it but never did. Mister Thynne took the phone out of his pocket with a set in expression of displeasure on his face. He took the cigar in his mouth to his hand before picking up and answering. “Hello?”

“Mister Thynne,” there was a woman’s voice on the other end of the line. “We need to talk.” She sounded calm and completely at ease. He had no idea who she was nor had he recognized the number she was calling from. Mister Thynne turned and headed to the front door of his villa. 

“Who is this?” He tried to ask. He felt the bullet hit his leg before he even heard the shot. Involuntarily, he dropped to the ground with a cry. The driveway was painful to drag one’s self across but he had no care for what was and was not painful at that moment. His leg felt as though it was on fire. In his state, it was easy to forgive Mister Thynne for not hearing the footsteps coming up behind him.

“Well, it seems I’ve finally won and gotten the last shot in,” the woman. Who had been on the phone, said from behind him as she watched him drag himself up the stone steps of his villa. He stopped as her shadow crossed over him like a dark looming cloud that could only signify one thing: death itself. She walked up the stairs, phone in one hand and an HK UMP-9 in the other. 

Mister Thynne looked up at her, pain dripping from his eyes. “Who are you?” He gritted out through his teeth.

“Funny, here it says,” she took a look at the phone as though she were glancing through information, “rogue woman. I assume you remember what they called me, don’t you? Do you not remember me,  _ Master _ ?” She tried to look almost innocent. The woman was far from innocent.

“No,” he spat out at her. It was an answer to both her questions. She could hear that the pain was taking over his body by just the inflection in his voice. His brain was short circuiting, this much he knew, but he knew he had seen her before. He could not think of where he’d seen her.

She looked down at him as she spoke, all charisma and eloquence. “The name’s Yard.” She stopped and smiled, waiting for recognition to begin to settle in. “Valerye Yard.”

She watched as recognition finally crossed over him, he finally knew who exactly his last target had been. An almost horrified smile crossed his face but before it could make its full appearance she leveled her weapon and ended his reign. The Master was no more.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to introduce her this early, but I thought it might be a bit more fun this way. Can you figure out who's who? I'll tag them appropriately when the next chapter is uploaded.
> 
> Cheers!


	6. No. 13

GENOA, ITALY

The whole way back to Rome, Yasmin Khan fought them. There wasn’t a moment she wasn’t fighting them. If it was her trying to physically get away from them or her trying to manipulate her way to release, nothing worked. Yaz, in her few and far between periods of quiet, had determined subtle things about her captors so that once she returned to MI6 she’d be able to input them into the database for tracking. She had already figured out that once she’d escape they’d likely vanish too. At one point the blonde lady had quietly snapped at the Scottish one and Yaz had learned that the name Missy was only shorthand for Margret Saxon. Yaz had decided if she were stuck with that name, she’d take a nickname too. But, other than that, Yaz had deduced other bits of information about the trio. As Yaz had discovered, Missy was flirty with a deadly look. One of the few times she had mistakenly caught the other woman’s icy glaze, Yaz had felt an unsettling chill cover her entire body. There was an untamed madness behind her eyes that was just waiting to be let free. The other brunette, Millennia Brightshore as Yaz had learned by mistake, was a silent wildcard. While she had managed to determine a few things about the woman on a surface level, the longer she was around her the more those initial deductions fell to pieces. She was both calm and mad; quiet and screaming for attention. Millennia Brightshore was a woman of contradictions if Yaz had ever met such a person. The third woman, the blonde, was a peculiar one as well. She was brilliant but with a child-like air about her. Once you got her to start talking it was difficult to shit her up, Missy would usually roll her eyes but Millennia would indulge her until she stopped. The blonde, who was for some reason known only as Thirteen, had taken a liking to Yaz. She had tried to make her feel comfortable with the situation but never shied away from the fact that the other two women had kidnapped her.

In a strange turn of events, Yaz had even managed to discern why the two brunettes had decided to kidnap her. From what bits and pieces, she had either overheard or they had openly told her, there was a fourth individual before Yaz. He, his name had been Mortimus, was assigned to watch Thirteen just as Millennia and Missy had been but there had been an “unfortunate accident.” The unfortunate accident had been that he had gotten on Missy’s bad side and she had ended up stabbing him. Mortimus had been left by the side of the road somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Neither Millennia nor Missy could come to a consensus as to where in the Swiss Alps he had been left, only that he had been left in the Alps, Thirteen would remain silent for these arguments. 

Once they had gotten to Italy, they had first stopped in Genoa where Millennia had tended to stay between assignments. It was a quiet apartment that overlooked the Ligurian Sea. Had Yaz willingly traveled here on her own, she wouldn’t have had any issues with sitting out on the balcony for hours on end simply watching the waves form on the sea. But she wasn’t here willingly. Her coming here had not been her choice and she had to remember that, much like she had to remember that the blonde haired Thirteen wasn’t her friend. She was a kidnapper and no matter how nice she seemed to be or how genuine she could be, Yaz refused to develop Stockholm Syndrome in regard to her. With Yaz in the apartment and the two brunettes flitting around like birds, there were only but a few moments of calm. In one of the strangest exchanges that Yaz had ever been part of, she found herself sat on a balcony by the sea, tea in hand, and the blonde Thirteen across from her. 

In a seemingly silent moment while the other two women were elsewhere inside, Yaz found herself engaged in a hushed conversation with the blonde. “When they first said they wanted to kidnap someone, I tried to tell them not to. Well, I did tell them not to but they didn’t listen. They never listen.” Thirteen ended up telling her in surprisingly hushed tones. From all that Yaz had determined about the other woman, quiet was not something she was good at or sat well with her. 

Yaz tried to hide her confusion, she wasn’t sure if it worked. “You’re assassins, hired killers, are you guys going to just kill me when you’re bored?” Yaz knew not where that statement came from.

“They might try to. They both get bored really quiet easily, Missy especially.”

Thirteen stops talking for a moment but Yaz does not ask her anything in return. She hopes that maybe Thirteen was going somewhere with what she was saying and was looking for the right words.

Eventually she does begin speaking again, it is still in the same hushed tones. “I can try and get you away from here before they do that though.”

Yaz didn’t know what to think about that. “So, you’ll kidnap me by yourself?”

“No, I’ll help you get back.”

“Back where? The opera house?”

“No, to MI6.”

Yaz felt every vein and artery in her body freeze in an instant. How could the woman have known that she worked for MI6? She had been diligent in making sure that she said no personal details about herself to any of the kidnappers, Thirteen included.

“You went to that opera house with Koschei, right? Koschei Oakdown?”

Still, Yaz was stuck in a stunned silence. Not only had Thirteen found out that she worked for MI6 but she had found out about Koschei as well. 

“Koschei works for MI6, and so do you. You’ve both been investigating me and you went to Paris for information.”

LONDON, ENGLAND

Koschei had panicked. He had gotten back to London as quickly as he could once he had realized that Yaz had been kidnapped. Once he had gotten a phone through to Donna, he had been on the first plane from Paris to London. Koschei was just lucky that he’d thought ahead and had had the right documentation with him already, he hadn’t been sure if it would be held hostage for a time so that he could gather whatever information was needed. Lucky for him it hadn’t been needed at that time. Unlucky for him he had needed it not long after.

Within three hours he was off the plane and back at MI6. It was late but, with the news that Yaz had been kidnapped everyone had returned on a moment's notice. By the time Koschei had stepped through the doors, Clara had already begun looking for her through any internet activity and Ryan had already begun tracing Yaz’s phone. It wasn’t until Koschei was sat in Donna’s office recounting everything that had happened that he realized he had left all his stuff at the hotel in Paris. For the time being he tried not to focus on that and instead focus on helping find Yaz. For as late as it was, Donna had managed to call in a forensic facial reconstruction specialist. In his time with MI6, Koschei had learned that they operated strange hours and never slept. 

As it neared 1 AM a frantic Koschei found himself seated in front of the specialist. “We’ll start with the man first, is that alright?”

Koschei simply nodded his head.

The reconstructionist looked from Koschei to his iPad. Koschei assumed he had some facial reconstruction program to add him loaded up but he could not see. “To begin in the most general of terms, do you remember his face shape?”

Koschei thought back to the bald man in the ugly red coat. “Uhm…square I think?” Koschei sat back and thought for a second, “Yeah, square.” The specialist focused on his iPad for a moment.

“Eyes?”

Koschei could see the informant in his head now, clear as day. “Closer together, deep set, and hooded. I think they were brown too, it was darker in the theater at that point however.”

The specialist focused intently on his work. Koschei could see him dragging things around on his screen based on the movement of the pen he had. “Hair?”

“He was bald. I don’t think he had eyebrows either?” While it was supposed to be a statement, the last part came out sounding a bit more like a question instead. 

They went back and forth for what felt like at least an hour before the specialist felt comfortable enough with the first rendering to show Koschei the final image. While Koschei knew that there was likely to be a bit of discrepancy between the digital rendering and what he had seen with his own eyes in the dark opera house, he was confident in his memory to have accurately described the informant in enough detail to be useful. Koschei confirmed with the specialist after he had been shown the rendering that it did in fact look like the man he had seen. While being digital and in a brighter space, the image confirmed the thought that Koschei had had that the man did not look like someone who would have dealings with assassins. But, hey, everyone was full of surprises. 

“And the woman?” The specialist asked.

“How can you be so sure that she’s involved?” Koschei did not know why he became suddenly defensive of her. 

Donna, who he had not realized was standing behind him, spoke up, “If she’s involved in Yaz’s kidnapping then we want to know who she is and cross check with people on our radar. Just like I wanted you to describe the informant so that we can figure out who he is.” While Koschei was unsure if the specialist could detect it, he could hear in her voice the sarcastic ‘you are being an idiot’ tone she’d occasionally use. 

Koschei looked at the specialist again and nodded. By now, he knew the questions that would be asked of him. It wasn’t long before his basic description of the blonde became something else entirely. “She had this brightness in her eye that was addicting in a way, and that was reflected in her entire being when she smiled. She wasn’t one to keep eye contact but when she did it was intense. She was brilliant but a bit cocky. Not exactly sure of herself but definitely not unsure of herself, in a way she was still learning who she was but already knew who she wasn’t.” He wasn’t sure when he trailed off, only that he had when he thought back to how they’d somehow managed to bring up the conversation of life off of Earth during a showing of Phantom of the Opera. Koschei made sure to remember not to tell Jack about her, his partner would tease him endlessly about it. When Koschei managed to bring himself back to the present, before either the specialist or Donna attempted, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “She’s stubborn. And, she had a dark side that she tried not to show.” Koschei was on it then, he kept going on and on about her and the personality of the strange woman. That is until Donna Noble stopped him.

Koschei hadn’t seen the knowing look that the specialist and Donna gave each other. “We just needed the facial description, O.”

He had been too caught up, it happened occasionally. He’d always been told that he had an obsessive streak. Recently he’d found that, with the assassin on his mind, that he’d obsess over the littlest details and associate the nearest stranger with the assassin. Koschei knew that there was no way that the brilliant woman could have been an assassin, but his brain seemed to have other ideas on her identity. 

ROME, ITALY

Two days later, Yaz found herself in Rome. Thirteen had yet to hold up to her claim that she was going to help Yaz escape. She had, however, learned one more thing about the mysterious and enigmatic blonde; Thirteen was absolutely obsessed with Koschei, borderline giddy at the mere thought of him. Yaz had yet to determine why that was so, she figured it was the idea of being chased while remaining a few steps ahead. Once they had reached Rome, Millennia and Missy managed to acquire the apartment next to Thirteen. In such short notice, Yaz thought that a murder was likely involved. With them next door, the pair had left Yaz with Thirteen. While Yaz had been left in one of the rooms of Thirteen’s apartment, Missy had come by with a suitcase for her that looked suspiciously familiar. 

Before they had left Paris, there had been a short while where Yaz had been held hostage in their getaway car. Given that it was late at night by that point, she wasn’t able to make out where exactly in the city she had been at the time. But, she had seen Thirteen run into a building and return some minutes later with a black box like object. Yaz knew now what that object had been. What Missy had brought by was Koschei’s suitcase. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s with its obnoxious yellow and white tags. Yaz had told Koschei the moment she saw them that something that bright had to glow in the dark. 

Yaz crept into the room where Thirteen currently was. The other woman had thrown the suitcase on the bed haphazardly and was going through it intently. While Yaz hadn’t seen the inside of his suitcase in the hotel room, she could tell from the side that Thirteen had yet to go through that Koschei’s packing skills left much to be desired. His disastrous organization skills, or lack thereof, had seemingly penetrated all aspects of his life. Suddenly, Yaz was reminded of the shelf of files Koschei had collected up about the assassin back at MI6. The assassin from the shelf was right in front of her. Realization hits Yaz like a ton of bricks.

“What are you doing?” Yaz figured it was the stun of the realization and her wish to survive this encounter that forced her to speak.

Thirteen turned her head to look back at Yaz, blonde hair fanning out over her shoulder. “Hiya Yaz! I’m calling ya’ because we’re friends now.”

Yaz knew not what to make of that. She was not a friend, she was a kidnapper and an assassin. A deadly assassin that had left a body count across Europe, Africa, and the Americas. 

“Koschei really has some awful taste in clothing,” Thirteen said. The woman turned back and continued to go through all of Koschei’s things. “We’ll have to help that.”

Yaz bit back the urge to make a comment about the rainbow shirt, yellow braces, and blue culottes that the other woman was wearing. Instead she gave the woman a confused look, not that she could see it anyway.

“Purple and blue will do,” Yaz watched as Thirteen bounced around the room to grab various different things: a phone, a note pad, a pen, what looked like a wallet, and a blueish overcoat. The assassin threw on the overcoat and put the wallet, notepad, and pen in a side pocket. Yaz watched then as she went back to the clothes and began putting what looked like tag information in her phone. While Yaz hadn’t previously had any experience with assassins, she had had quite a bit of people experience back in Sheffield with the police. She had never before encountered someone of Thirteen’s caliber.

In a state of confusion, with a side of awh, Yaz watched the enigma that was Thirteen bounce about the room. She had taken everything out of Koschei’s suitcase, had even uncovered the spare pair of shoes he had hidden in the bottom of the case’s other side, and piled all of it up on what Yaz assumed was her bed. Thirteen quickly came up beside her, grabbed her hand, and dragged her from the room. “We had work to do.” Yaz was beyond baffled by this strange woman. 

Thirteen, before letting Yaz leave her apartment, checked to make sure Missy and Millennia were still next door. She was gone for a moment but returned alone, Yaz assumed that they must have been there. Upon her return Yaz found herself being dragged out of the apartment and free out on the streets of Rome.

It was a beautiful city, Yaz had planned to visit later in the year, and with Thirteen as her guide Yaz could almost forget that the woman was an assassin. She was clever and an absolute genius. Thirteen was just one surprise after another. Once arriving in Rome, the woman had completely changed. Between leaving Paris and arriving in Rome there had been a different personality for her. She had been quieter and in a way Yaz could have lined up a few of the traits that Koschei had suspected with her. However, once they had reached Rome she had become a different person entirely. It wasn’t like she was someone who had bipolar disorder and had gone from a depressive phase to a manic phase suddenly or that she had some form of dissociative identity disorder and had gone from one personality to another. Thirteen in Rome was someone who was comfortable with her surroundings, unlike she had seemed previously, and knew where everything was. It was as though she knew she no longer had an eye watching over her every move and suddenly she was allowed to show someone everything she found cool. Thirteen did not take pride in her job, Yaz would go so far as to say she didn’t even like it. From what Yaz had seen, the only part that Thirteen liked was the exploration aspect; not the exploration of new ways of offing a hit but instead exploring the place where the hit took place. She had seen it in the way Thirteen spoke about the city she called home. At every corner, Thirteen managed to change the topic to another story- either ancient or modern- based on the place they had currently been standing. When they returned to Thirteen’s apartment, the stories hadn’t stopped either. Thirteen spoke of everything and anything she could think of, from the individuals she could see walking the streets below her windows to why she had decided to paint one wall a color called ‘Tardis Blue’. 

Thirteen gave Yaz one of the rooms in her apartment for the night. “I’ll make sure you’re back in London by tomorrow night,” she told Yaz. “We’ll figure out what flight time to get you before Missy or Millennia find out.” When the woman left Yaz alone in the room, she hadn’t known how she should feel about her situation anymore. As a precaution, Yaz checked the distance it would be from her window to the street below and the easiest means of getting down there. She also barricaded every piece of furniture she could move in front of the door in the hopes that it would be difficult or impossible for Thirteen to sneak in during the night and kill her. While she had now seen what Thirteen was really like that didn’t mean she trusted the woman. 

LONDON, ENGLAND

Koschei was pissed now. He might have gone a bit overkill, but he had called the hotel he and Yaz stayed at to see if they had found his suitcase yet. When they had told him that someone had already come to pick it up and that he should have it by now he had been nearly livid. But, he had tried to hide this from Jack. Jack didn’t need to know that he’d lost yet another suitcase, this would have been the third one. There were other things more important at the moment. His partner knew that Yaz had been kidnapped while in Paris, that first night he had accidently told him more information than he would have liked to. But it was out there now and he knew, and every night since Koschei would try to stay late to help find Yaz and Jack would call him in that same sweet voice of his to summon him home. Koschei had hated when Donna and the others had picked up on this new habit of Jack’s and sided with him over Koschei. 

It had been nearly eight when Jack had called. And, it had been Ryan that had kicked him out. All this had led to Koschei’s current situation: sitting on the sofa with Jack and eating cheap take out. Koschei could feel the past few days weighing on him as he checked his watch. It was nearing 2 am at this point and he could almost feel it in his bones. He looked to Jack, like always the other man didn’t look tired in the slightest. Jack never seemed to tire.

Koschei forced himself up from the comfort of the sofa. “I’m going to go to bed,” he leaned down and gave Jack a kiss on his head like he did to him every night before climbing into bed.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” Jack flashed Koschei a gentle smile.

He walked upstairs and heard the sounds of the television growing quieter and quieter. By the time he had reached the short distance to the top Koschei could feel himself almost falling asleep on his feet. If his and Jack’s room had been any further he might have even contemplated falling asleep in the short hallway. That tiredness seemed to vanish, however, the moment he saw his missing suitcase sitting on the bed. It hadn’t been there two hours ago and Jack would have told him if someone had brought it by. Koschei went to the window to see if it had been tampered with but could find no evidence of such. He then went to the bed and tentatively reached out for the obnoxious tag to turn it over. There hadn’t been a doubt to him that it was his bag previously but seeing his ID tag written in his hand only confirmed it. 

Against his better judgement and knowing that Jack wasn’t likely to be up for a while, Koschei pulled at the zipper to open the suitcase. Tiredness really did lead to him making poor decisions. His logical processes had tuned out hours ago and with no part of his brain telling him it was a bad idea, Koschei opened the suitcase flat on the bed. Inside was truly unexpected.

Nothing in the suitcase had been what Koschei himself had packed days ago. All its contents had been replaced with higher end clothing, something he hadn’t ever paid attention to personally. What stood out first was the blue and orange patterned suit and matching waistcoat. He assumed that the navy blue button down went with it too. It wasn’t something he’d pick for himself, normally, but he had to admit he did like the feel of it. Folded below that had been a wool coat in a beautiful purple hue. Koschei remembered having put a shirt in the suitcase that was of a similar color but it hadn’t been anywhere near as rich. Despite the tiredness trying to creep back in, Koschei looked through the rest of the suitcase’s replaced contents. He had just folded things back over his hand instead of fully taking them out like he had with the suit. In the bottom he had found a pair of grey suede shoes that looked beyond comfortable. But, given how early it was Koschei didn’t pull them or anything else out of the suitcase. He was thinking that he should bring it to MI6 with him in the morning to see if there was anything he could trace back to whoever bought the pieces when he found something strange. There was a nice little box that had a note attached to it. There was only one word on the page, ‘Kisses.’

The box itself contained a bottle of cologne that bore the name ‘No. 13’.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this took so long for me to write, but think of it as an early birthday gift from me to you now.
> 
> Since I said I'd do this last chapter: Valerye Yard is the Valeyard, Usha Rani is the Rani, Geoffrey Thynne is the Delgado!Master.
> 
> Cheers!


	7. Run.

LONDON, ENGLAND

Koschei, despite his tiredness, could barely find it in him that night to sleep soundly. At most he’d drift off for a while before something would wake him up. Jack on the other hadn’t had not had any issues sleeping that night and it had infuriated Koschei to no end. The other man, after he had slipped into bed, had fallen asleep in time. Koschei had not had such luck. Jack had managed to slip his arm around Koschei’s waist and hold him close which the sleep deprived Koschei had hated. It wasn’t an unusual thing for Koschei to find that Jack holding him in the morning after having drawn him close during the night, it was actually a regular occurrence. While Koschei had never had an issue with it in the past it felt suffocating now. Someone knew close personal details about Koschei and that rattled his brain. In any other circumstance, Koschei would have been up and about trying to piece everything together. But, Jack had his arms around him the entire night. Whenever Koschei had tried to escape, Jack's grip only tightened. 

Jack woke up at seven am on the dot and Koschei couldn’t have been more grateful. He loved Jack, really he did, but he wanted nothing more than to get away from him for the rest of the day. Koschei felt that if he stayed around the other man any longer than necessary today he might suffocate under him. As luck would have it, Jack excused himself to the bathroom upon waking. This left Koschei with the advantage of a quick escape. As he heard the bathroom door shut soundly, Koschei dressed for the day and grabbed the suitcase before heading down stairs. The suitcase was still nagging at him. Whomever had taken it now had his address but they also had personal details about him such as clothing and shoe sizes. On top of that, the clothing didn’t look cheap, it was high end and it was expensive. If Koschei where to put a guess on the final price, he’d guess that whoever had bought everything must have spent at least four thousand for everything. 

At half past seven Koschei managed to finally sneak out. Jack was still upstairs at the time. When Koschei blew like a hurricane into the MI6 office it was a scene of instant commotion. The suitcase had been bagged up before leaving home and now took up residence on an unclaimed desk. Although he had been the first one in, he had caused quite a bit of chaos for himself. Desks were moved so that there was a large open space in front of the blank white wall and documents were laid out on the floor as he connected the different cases together, had anyone walked in while he was still going they would have likely thought him mad. He projected up on the wall any of the unsolved cases, the ones that he could find were similar enough to a professional hit but didn’t quite match the pattern of the assassin he was tailing. All of this was to see if there was any way he could tie them to Paris and maybe even his suitcase. During the night, Koschei had had the outlandish idea that maybe the assassin was the one that had taken his suitcase and replaced everything before returning it. It was quite a bit out there and the idea that an assassin knew his address was greatly unsettling to Koschei but he had decided that he needed to at least look into the possibility to calm himself down. 

When Bill Potts, another that worked with the MI6 team, walked in, Koschei’s mind had been running ten million mile per second. 

“What are you doing, O?” Bill was the only one that regularly called Koschei O.

It took him a second before he registered her question. By the time he had processed it and came up with an answer, Bill was already standing next to him. “There has to be some connection to all of this,” he mumbled without realizing he had only spoken the very end of what he had thought out to say.

Bill looked around at the disaster that he had created. Her eyes fell to the bagged up suitcase on the desk. “Does the mess have anything to do with the bag?”

Koschei turned around. “What?” He had been so focused on trying to find any possible connections that the suitcase that it had momentarily slipped his mind that the bag had been opaque and people could not see what was inside.

“Does it have anything to do with the bag, O?” She questioned once more.

“Yaz was kidnapped-,” Koschei started.

“I know.”

“Yaz was kidnapped,” he said again, “and my bag was stolen from our hotel room in Paris. My stolen suitcase ended up back in my house without my knowledge. Jack hadn’t known either. Except the clothing I had put in the suitcase was not returned, everything had been replaced. And it had been replaced with is high end, easily worth four grand.”

“What does that have to do with the assassin file?”

“I couldn’t sleep and the thought that maybe it was the assassin kept coming back. Right now, I have no way to prove that they were in Paris, but if I can prove to myself that it wasn’t the assassin then I can start looking into who might have taken my suitcase.”

“So, the bag has your suitcase in it?”

Koschei realized that he had never explicitly said what had been in the opaque bag. “Yes,” he turned back to the projected information before quickly turning around once more, as though he had something else to say and had just remembered it. “Can you ask Heather something for me?” Heather was Bill’s civil partner, he had learned, and she worked in the forensics department of MI6.

“What?” Bill was wary of people asking for favors.

“If she can have forensics go over the suitcase and everything to see in the person left any traces on the bag or contents? The tags are still on everything from what I saw, that could be used too.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she didn’t sound so sure.

“Would she be able to get it fast tracked? So, it’s easier to disprove that it is not the assassin.”

Bill repeated herself.

_____

When Yasmin Khan walked in at roughly 5:30 it was as though the tiring employees had suddenly come alive again. A thousand questions flew at her from all directions. Was she okay? What had happened? She had been calm and agreed to explain everything out. While those in the office had wanted to leave when they were supposed to there was now just reason to stay longer. With the office still in its chaotic state from Koschei’s mess, everyone took seats around Yaz as told them what had happened.

She recounted that the escape had been quick and in broad daylight. Thirteen, as the assassin was called, had managed to get her a ticket directly from Rome to London. The woman had arranged for Yaz to be whisked away from the center of Rome, amidst the tourist crowds. According to Yaz, Thirteen had reasoned that the other two assassins, Millennia and Missy, would not have noticed Yaz’s disappearance and if they had Thirteen herself would take the blame. From the way Yaz spoke about Thirteen, Koschei could tell that the other woman was lonely and needed someone that she could care about. Yaz had positively identified Thirteen as the assassin they had been tracking which quickly gained Koschei’s attention. Yaz had already had his attention, but the identification of the individual had captured the attention of every neuron firing off in his brain that hadn’t been paying attention. He had been so sure of himself, thinking that he had been right about the assassin and their, her, personality. But, slowly, the profile he had built up about her began to fall away in a flurry of contradictory words.

“Are you sure the assassin is her?” The disbelief in Koschei had taken full control of his speech.

Yaz looked at him. She knew him and was well aware of his habits and ticks, she could hear in his voice the tone of disbelief but also that of someone who was beginning to accept that they were wrong. “Yes, Koschei, I’m sure.”

The other agents hadn’t been so quick to question. However, the other agents weren’t as emotionally invested as Koschei had found himself becoming in this case. 

_____

At 7:27 pm, Bill Potts received a call. The call was from Heather. As Koschei had asked, the suitcase had been processed and tested for any evidence. The findings from the lab were being sent over. Bill had been gleeful in her announcement that there had been a DNA match found to a piece of hair that the forensics technicians had discovered in the suitcase. When Koschei got the notification, moments later, that the lab findings had come through and he now had access to them, he felt excited at the prospect of figuring out who had taken his suitcase. Everyone else on the team had become invested in the idea of this international assassin, Thirteen as Yaz had called her, and they had become just as curious over the day at the possibility that maybe she had stolen Koschei’s suitcase. They all knew that it was highly unlikely, but one was always allowed to wonder about possibilities. Koschei, who had made no effort to rearrange the desks when everyone had started coming in that morning as they accepted their arrangement for the day, moved the two chairs that had drifted in front of his projector backdrop so that he would have a clear view. He then turned on the projector and connected his laptop. 

When everything had loaded, Koschei opened the lab file. The file had two attachments, one on the DNA profile and the other on the individual it matched, but it also came with a warning. In the warning there was the note that one of the lab techs had been disturbed by the information and that on further inspection it had been unsettling. With far warning, the curious team proceeded with caution. Koschei brought up the attachment with the DNA profile. If they had been looking for the individual on the profile alone, everyone might have paid more attention to it. But, with a positive match in the system, everyone was more curious about the individual. When Koschei loaded the second file, no one expected to see the profile of a six year old. 

Before them was the file of a child, a young girl, who had gone missing 24 years previously. Koschei knew the case all too well. He looked at the name at the top of the file, Thea Lungbarrow, and everything came back to him. It was said that the things that have the greatest impact on you are the moments that are forever imprinted in your memory. Thea Lungbarrow and her case were one such moment for Koschei. 

Back in the tiny town he had grown up in, Gallifrey, there had been a girl just his age that lived next door. Her name had been Thea. She lived with her parents and older brother Irving. Irving was a few years older, three if Koschei remembered correctly, and had been protective over Thea. Koschei had learned this by trying to befriend her but having to get through Irving first. His parents hadn’t liked Thea, or any of the Lungbarrows really, and had tried to keep the two children separated. The Lungbarrows on the other hand had been welcoming to Koschei. Thea was the first friend that Koschei could remember having. The pair were absolutely inseparable, positively the other half of each other. So, when Thea vanished three months into school at the age of six. She was never seen again. And, two years later, Koschei’s best friend was legally pronounced dead. His first friend that he cared to remember had been taken too soon and no one had made enough of an effort to find her. Koschei, from the ages of six to sixteen, had tried to conduct his own investigation with other friends he had gathered over the years. Had Thea not gone missing, Koschei was sure he’d never have gone into a field that was meant to protect people. 

At the very bottom of the file, Heather or someone that she worked with had attached another file. Koschei had yet to realize that his expertly crafted façade of being emotionally separated was breaking down. The other agents in the room weren’t reading the file that had been projected up on the wall anymore, instead they were watching him as he silently broke. He clicked on the file. When the file, an updated article loaded Koschei had yet to realize his vision was beginning to glass over from unshed tears. At the top of the page was a photo of three children. He didn’t need to read the caption, he knew who was in the photo. It had been taken on a bright spring morning beneath a silver birch that had been in the fields behind the Lungbarrow house. Irving had been sent out to bring the two children, who had been running in the fields all morning, in for a snack. He had found them laying on the ground beneath the tree. Irving, who had just turned ten years old, had gone back into the house to tell his mother that he had found them. Ms. Lungbarrow had decided to bring their snack out to them. She had taken the photo when they weren’t looking. Irving sat against the tree truck while Thea had thrown her arms around Koschei as they both laughed at something he had long forgotten about. That was the image that had always been associated with the Lungbarrow case, one depicting childhood innocence that was taken too soon. 

Koschei had mentally distanced himself as he felt the years of anger begin to over take him. It was Clara, brave Clara, that ventured close to him and took the mouse for herself so that the others could continue looking at both the article and Koschei’s reactions. She hovered the scroler over the caption for a moment as she read and realized what it meant.  _ ‘Thea Lungbarrow, 6, Irving Lungbarrow, 10, and friend.’  _ Clara looked towards the others as they came to realize the crashing enormity of that image. None of them needed Koschei to tell them he was in the photo, that all could tell. She brought herself back to composure, the same could not be said for Koschei, and scrolled on. At the bottom of the article was another image, this time of just Thea. Beside it was a digital composite image of what Thea was said to have looked like at the age of 22. With Koschei still lost to oblivion, Clara saved the composite image. It was Yaz who stopped her.

“This might be better,” Yaz, who had spent days with Thirteen, knew that the composite was just a younger image. But, Yasmin Khan was sneaky when she had to be. She had an image of her from the last few days. Yaz sent the photo to Clara who put it side by side to the other two images. Six years old, 21 years old, and now. Everyone, except one, was hooked on the projection before them.

Koschei, who had rendered himself momentarily mute, couldn’t’ take it anymore. From the information the informant had given them about the Division stealing children to the revelation that his childhood best friend was not in fact dead but alive and an assassin, it was all becoming too much. He felt as though the walls were closing in and the ceiling was slowly descending upon him. The air was growing thin, but stale, and the eyes of a thousand people upon him set his skin crawling. He couldn’t take it. He had to escape. It was a sudden movement, much like when the police had asked him about Thea many years ago. Back then he ran from them despite not being the best runner. And, now, he ran from MI6 too. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I see writing fanfic as a way of testing out different genres and styles in writing. From this I have figured out one thing with this work right here. I like reading books and stories with espionage but writing it is definitely not my thing. Right now I am unaware if this will be continued or not but, if I do it will probably be a while before I do.


	8. STORY UPDATE

I'm going to put this on hiatus for the time being. At the moment I don't know when I'll have a real honest update, but it likely won't be anytime soon. 

I see fanfic as a way of testing out different genres and at the moment I'm not too keen on writing spies, at least not as much as I thought I would be. So, this here will be going through a whole rework before I attempt to continue any further but for now I just need to set it aside (like its not even going to be on the back burner, we're taking this one out of the kitchen.) If this does get updated it will either be in this document or in a whole new story.

Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! You made it to the end!
> 
> The databases I mentioned in here are:
> 
> https://homicide.igarape.org.br  
> http://www.murderdata.org
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Cheers!  
> Loki
> 
> (If you are so inclined, you can find me on Tumblr under the same handle where I might include some other things pertaining to this.)


End file.
